


It’s Raining Mann

by Dragon_Mage



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 'depictions' of rape, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Multi, Other, Pornography, Sex, conflicting relationships, no actual rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 84,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13427736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Mage/pseuds/Dragon_Mage
Summary: Welcome adults to the newest addition to Mann Co Productions Presents! We hope this show will bring great pleasure to the adults. Our adults only content is a newer and broader part of the studios.Maxwell wrangles Dooley into joining in a new program for Mann Co veterans to make pornography for extra cash. Dooley finds himself in an awkward place and their friendship gets complicated.Upon being disbanded from their team, Francis and some of his gang end up joining a new program for Mann Co veterans to make porn. Not many options in the great big world for some guys who like to shoot at people and no longer have identities. Besides, this seemed like a great chance to explore sexuality for Francis. That was, until it just made things more complicated.





	1. Where it Starts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blitzhund](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blitzhund/gifts).



> LAST CHANCE TO TURN BACK
> 
> This fic is a character driven story with a lot of sexual content. It is intended for adult readers only. Please proceed with discretion.
> 
> This is the first work in association to my fanfics to contain explicit sexual content.

November 2009

The morning sun lit up a new day. The smell of piping hot coffee and the sound of old country tunes filled the cab of the truck. The calming atmosphere kept the driver happy and alert. The road ahead stretched for miles beyond the naked eye’s view. It promised a whole different world beyond the miles he could already see. He hummed along to the tunes, letting the words distract him from his work behind the steering wheel.

He took the plastic mug and had himself a good long drink of coffee. It hit him right where he needed it most. He sighed with a smile at the familiar bitterness. There was something pleasant about coffee, like an old friend trying to wake one’s soul.

He turned the music off for a minute to listen to the truck. It was not a problem vehicle, but they were running it into the ground with all of their traveling. He wanted to be sure that no problems started while he was not looking for them.

When he was sure there were no problems, he turned the radio back on. Here was hoping the station did not radically change again soon. He just wanted to enjoy some tunes.

His passenger and companion stirred. He lifted his face off of the window and looked around sleepily. He did not look like he understood what was going on yet. He must have been bewildered by the unfamiliar terrain outside the window.

“Sleep well?” Dooley chuckled as he watched the other man out of the corner of his eye.

Maxwell groaned and stretched his arms out. There was hardly enough room to stretch his long legs. The tall man used all of the space that he could get. He let out a loud yawn before settling into his seat.

“Coffee?” Dooley gestured to the full and covered mug that sat next to his own.

Maxwell hummed as he took the lid off of the mug, “Cream?”

“Nope,” Dooley replied with a smile.

“Sugar?” Maxwell inquired.

“Two sugar cubes,” Dooley answered.

Max smiled in satisfaction as he started drinking the brew. He carefully sipped it, not wanting to burn his mouth. When he was sure that it was drinkable, he took a few gulps.

He let out a loud sigh and replaced the mug, “Thank you for the coffee.”

“No problem,” Dooley chuckled, “I’ve just about memorized your quirks.”

“Quirks?” the doctor sounded offended, “I have no quirks!”

Dooley chuckled at that. He would not press the other man on the topic. It was not as if he minded anyways. He also turned down the tunes, so he could converse with his companion.

“Is that another one of my quirks?” Max asked bitterly.

“No,” Dooley shook his head, “I just wanna hear the conversation.”

“Oh,” was the drab response that came from Max’s mouth.

It made him frown to hear it. He never said anything about the attitude though. It was always hard for Max to get along with people, according to the man himself. Their arrangement was born out of necessity rather than anything that brought the two of them together.

Still, Dooley had been striving to make it worth something. They had nobody else in this world, not friends nor family. All they had left was each other. Before this, Dooley had hopes of spending more time with a dear friend. His dear old friend did not want him around though. The man had bought into others’ paranoia of Dooley’s intentions due to his past discretions. He had to leave that man alone, and leave behind any thought of a friendship. That hurt a lot because of the love that Dooley had for him. He had to let that go and move on with life.

Maxwell on the other hand lost the one closest and dearest to his heart. He was generally at a loss without him around. That was where Dooley came into the picture. Between picking up broken pieces of the man and trying to paste him back into one piece, Dooley had his job cut out for him.

It was never simple either. It was rare for Maxwell to just admit that he was upset. It was also a silent attempt to off himself at night. It was the cuts and scratches that he hid beneath the sleeves. It was also moments where mental stability cracked like an egg and the yolk poured out all over the floor.

Dooley was okay with doing this for a friend. Trying to imagine having nobody else to pick him up, if Dooley himself was in such a state, only made his heart hurt. He once tried to explain this empathetic experience to Max, when the man tried to refuse his assistance. He had tried pushing Dooley away, to put him at a distance. None of it had worked. Dooley would not let up, not when he could clearly see that this man was struggling and needed _somebody_.

All of this considered, it would have been nice to be appreciated. Max was not obviously grateful, however. The man consistently kept his distance. He would not let the Engineer get close to him. He just refused to be personable. If he showed any gratitude, it was in small bits and pieces, but never abruptly put out there to show that he was aware of how much work Dooley put in to keep Maxwell’s life put together.

“So,” Dooley decided to be the one to keep conversation flowing, “Are you looking forward to Salt Lake City?”

A small shuffle of clothing was the initial reply. After a few moments, Maxwell gave a sigh, “Nothing worth seeing there. Naught but a dead lake.”

Dooley frowned, “It’s someplace neither of us have been yet.”

“Bah,” Maxwell growled, “What’s the point of site seeing anyhow?”

“Could be fun,” Dooley offered, burying the seething anger beneath layers.

He needed some more layers if he was going to get through this day. He picked up his coffee and drank until the heat buried the previous emotional sensation. It left relief and some burnt taste buds.

“Another place in the United States with no business existing,” Maxwell gestured dismissively.

Dooley grinded his teeth together angrily, “It would be nice if you’d give something a chance.” He turned the vehicle. His eye was caught by a sign of a diner. He decided that a little breakfast sounded like a good idea.

“The last thing I gave a chance was IHOW, and they failed me,” Maxwell retorted, taking a mental note of the sickness that followed eating at one.

Dooley sighed, “Not everything is an IHOW.”

He gestured to the sign on the building as they pulled into the parking lot. It was a small little diner with a small little parking area. The truck easily pulled into one of the small spaces, taking up room between two small white cars.

“I know,” the Medic turned a little towards the window. He was frowning at the building. “A diner, Dexter?” he inquired.

Dooley sighed as he put the truck into park. He unbuckled his seatbelt and slipped out the door. He shifted his feet in his boots, stamping and adjusting his blue overalls.

“What are we doing here?” Maxwell grumbled as he sipped his coffee.

“Breakfast,” Dooley replied, with a shake of his head, “I’m hungry. Either sit quietly in the truck, or get your cranky old ass into the diner.”

The Medic growled and grumbled as he climbed out of the vehicle. Dooley watched him as he climbed out of his seat and stretched. They both closed their doors and headed to the diner. They were silent as they entered the building side by side. Dooley glanced around, before spotting a waitress. The curly haired lady approached them with menus.

“Table for two?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Dooley nodded. They followed her to one of the tables with booths. “Can you get us a couple of coffees?” he asked, as he sat down.

“Of course,” the woman replied, as she set their menus in front of them, “I’ll be back with your coffee.”

“Thank you,” Dooley nodded to her before she left.

“Thought you were cutting back on your food intake,” Maxwell commented.

“What makes you think that?” Dooley asked.

“We were talking about your cholesterol last week,” Maxwell explained.

“Right,” Dooley cleared his throat, “Still gotta eat.”

“Must it be this cholesterol ridden foodstuffs?” Maxwell asked, opening a menu to look over what the diner had.

The waitress returned, “I’ll be clocking out soon, but one of my coworkers will be taking over for me.” She poured them each a white cup of coffee. “Anything I can get you before I head out?”

“Nah. Thanks ma’am,” Dooley gestured to her.

“Take all the time you need,” she said before she left with the pot of coffee.

“There you are!” both men turned at the familiarity of the voice. In fact, many heads had turned at the appearance of a mousy small woman in a dress that fell nicely above the knees.

“Miss Pauling?” Maxwell’s head followed her as she took a seat at their table, next to Dooley, “What are you doing here?”

“How did you track us down?” Dooley asked, glancing around with suspicion. This place could be bugged or worse be filled with agents.

“I’ve got my ways,” she said dismissively.

“Spy?” Maxwell looked to Dooley over the rim of his coffee mug.

Dooley looked to Miss Pauling a moment. Without giving it much thought, he gave her a strong slap on the back. When nothing happened he felt a striking sensation of amazement that was followed by relief.

“So you’re not an agent for Gray Mann,” Maxwell sipped his coffee noisily.

“Well…technically…” Miss Pauling hesitated.

“Ah hell,” Dooley grumbled.

“I am under contract,” Miss Pauling admitted, “I do work directly for Gray Mann.”

“Well, that’s just lovely, isn’t it?” Maxwell looked to Dooley for input.

“So, do we have Snipers to worry about outside?” Dooley asked hastily, “How many Spies do you have around in here? Five? Twenty?”

“Who brings twenty Spies?” Max interrupted.

Dooley shrugged, “I’m not sure, but I would like to find out.”

“What?” she gave out a breathy laugh, “No, no Snipers and no Spies. I came here alone.”

“Bull crap,” Dooley shook his head in disbelief.

“What?” Miss Pauling looked to him with equivalent disbelief.

“You are clearly in a ruse,” Maxwell explained to her, “We are not as gullible as you seem to think. I’m ashamed that you think so low of our collective intelligence, Miss Pauling.”

“It’s not that at all,” she argued, “In truth…I’m uh…I actually came here by chance.” She shrugged her shoulders dramatically and thrummed her fingers against the table’s surface.

“Three hundred dollars says there is at least one Sniper out there watching the truck,” Dooley insisted, pointing to the glass doors they came in through.

“There is no way you are here by chance,” Maxwell shook his head, “This is a tiny diner.”

“It’s true,” she shrugged, “I was surprised to see you here. It doesn’t mean I did not look.”

Dooley sipped his coffee for a minute. He studied the brunette thoughtfully. There were many situations in which she might lie. He knew well enough that she did not think like a Spy though. She had been called out and she did not have the skills to wiggle out of something like that. She would try to work through this with the truth instead.

“If you’re not here tracking us, then what are you doing?” Maxwell inquired.

“Breakfast,” was her simple answer.

There was a long silence amidst them. When Miss Pauling finally spoke, she seemed distracted, “Since you’re here, I do have a job offer.”

Dooley immediately spoke up, “Nope! No! Not having any work from Mann Co!”

“We are not interested,” Maxwell agreed.

“No. Wait. Listen!” she pleaded, “This isn’t contracted work. It’s on commission. Technically, you won’t be working with Mann Co. You would be working for small studios commissioned by Mann Co. The pay comes from Mann Co, but you get it through the studios.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes, “And what are we being commissioned for? Hmm?”

“Well…uh…” Miss Pauling became hesitant at that.

“Out with it, girl,” Dooley pressed, “We ain’t getting any younger.”

“Mann Co is commissioning pornographic movies and shows,” she winced.

Dooley lost all continence and his coffee spewed across the table. He coughed as he grabbed napkins to wipe up his mess. He took a minute to wipe up the mess he had made from the spit take.

“Is that all?” Max asked as he handed napkins to Dooley.

“Is that _all_?” Dooley asked in disbelief. He dabbed his face with the napkins hastily.

“Not the kind of work that I could see myself partaking in,” Maxwell went on.

“That’s hardly even-” Dooley cut off and looked around to be sure nobody was listening. This was a small diner after all. It was easy for people across the room to hear what they were talking about. He lowered his voice to a whisper when he spoke again, “That ain’t appropriate talk for this setting, Miss Pauling.”

“It’s not a choice I can afford to change,” she shrugged, “Besides, it’s not that bad. The pay is good. Nobody at Mann Co will have your contact information. They’ll hardly notice it is you.”

“Sure, until the off chance that somebody does realize who we are,” Maxwell argued. He began stirring another packet of sugar into his coffee.

“Porn ain’t nothing to sneeze at,” Dooley added.

“I doubt either of us has an interest in rolling about in a sack with a woman in front of a camera,” Maxwell added.

Maxwell was at least half right. The two of them had previously discussed their interests, primarily in men. It had only gotten awkward when they found themselves making it clear that they had no interest in each other. At least, Dooley had found it terrifying to try and tell Maxwell that he was not his type. In the end, they both took it well and moved on with their lives.

“Well, I’m already aware of all that,” Miss Pauling said, almost cheekily.

Dooley gave her a wary look, “Either call us out on something or move on.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” her fingers twitched, as if she wanted to pull something out of a pocket, “Normally, I would have papers to show you, but I am fully unprepared.”

“Enlighten us,” Maxwell suggested.

“Huh?” was her automated response.

“Tell us about what you would show us,” Maxwell suggested.

She huffed, “Well the commission rates are high. Mann Co won’t even know that I talked to you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Dooley interrupted.

Miss Pauling just kept on going, “At this time, our shortage of workers is not from sex with ladies. There are plenty of mercenaries clamoring to have sex with the girls that work for those studios.”

Maxwell chuckled, “Surprised that so many have such healthy libidos.”

Dooley quirked an eyebrow, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Maxwell chuckled wryly, “The materials that most mercenaries are exposed to on the job should be affecting not only libido but…well…”

“Not that!” Dooley protested, not wanting to hear the detailed explanation that Maxwell might get into.

“Point is that I need men with a little more…interest in men,” Miss Pauling intervened.

“Oh,” was all that came out of Dooley’s mouth.

There was a long silence between the three of them. They appeared to be at an impasse. The silence just drove into Dooley’s nerves.

The tension was interrupted by a young waitress, “Can I get you folks anything?”

“I won’t be staying,” Miss Pauling shook her head.

“The waffle platter for me,” Maxwell answered, “Eggs over easy, with hash browns. Don’t put any ketchup. And for the sake of my health, no butter!”

Miss Pauling wrote something on a napkin, while the woman was writing Maxwell’s order. Dooley wondered if she noticed the tension was there. Surely it was clear that something odd was happening. Whether she knew it or not, she did not comment on it.

Miss Pauling cleared her throat, before he realized that both women were looking at him. He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. After all, the topic of porn was still hanging in the air. He was not sure he even liked the topic of discussion, let alone approved of it in this situation.

“Bacon and eggs will be all,” Dooley insisted.

“How do you like your eggs?” the waitress asked.

“Er…scrambled, if you please,” Dooley requested.

“Alright then. I’ll get your order to the kitchen,” she took their menus and left.

“Here,” Miss Pauling handed the napkin she was writing on to Dooley, “If you’re interested, then call this number. Don’t mention me. I was never here. I never saw you.”

“And you’re splitting without getting the breakfast that you claim to have come here for?” Maxwell inquired suspiciously.

“Like I said,” Miss Pauling pressed, “I never saw you. If I stay here, it’s likely for a Spy to come along looking for me. My car is in the parking lot.”

“Not very safe to stick around you,” Dooley nodded.

“And that’s why I’m splitting,” she said, “Now, if you call that number, don’t mention me. Just tell them you’re Mann Co veterans. The guy knows what that means.”

Dooley shared a look with Maxwell. He hoped that the other man was on the same page as him. Mostly that he was not sure about all of this. Hell, he was not even sure he would keep a hold of that number.

“Don’t contact me,” Miss Pauling got to her feet.

“And you expect…Dooley and I to call this number for…what is it called? Sex commissions?” Maxwell asked.

Dooley winced in disgust, “Don’t…say it like that.”

“Oh, get over it,” Maxwell rolled his eyes.

“Well…see you. I mean, not see you. Let’s try not to see each other. I guess I’ll see you in the films,” her facial expression turned to surprise at what she had said, then she looked disgusted, “Oh God no!” She turn and fled from the diner.

Maxwell was snickering to himself, stirring his coffee. Dooley looked to him with a frown. He glanced out the window to see Miss Pauling rushing into her car. He looked back to Maxwell curiously.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

Maxwell smirked as he looked up. He glanced out the window at the woman struggling to pull out of the parking lot. He seemed quite amused with the conundrum that Miss Pauling had gotten herself into.

“She mentioned seeing _us_ in a porno,” he answered.

Dooley chuckled, though he felt heat building up on his cheeks, “Yea. That’s pretty damn laughable, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Max suddenly lost his smile. His fingers quickly snatched the napkin with the digits so he could have a look at the note.

“You ain’t actually thinking of calling about that job, are you?” Dooley asked, growing fearful that his current travelling companion just might take an interest in this sexual fantasy in photographic form.

“Maybe,” Maxwell’s fingers fiddled with the napkin as he stared at it. His blue eyes flickered up to meet Dooley’s gaze. They stared at each other for a long awkward silence that built Dooley’s face up to the same heat level as his coffee. “Do you have any other ideas for how we’ll continue funding our exploits to avoid Mann Co?”

“Oh boy,” Dooley sighed, drowning himself in coffee. He did not want to think about this. He did not want to talk about this anymore.

Given that neither of them had a phone, they would have to use a payphone. Given they rarely saw those, they would be a while. At least, Dooley could bank on the time it would take them to find a usable phone for Maxwell to change his mind. It was a very stupid idea and there was no reason for either of them to get a job. They especially did not need a job that would likely expose them to Mann Co officials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited for grammatical errors April 24, 2018


	2. Where it Ended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters from Pocket Merc!
> 
> Francis and the boys are being evicted from their old base. The future doesn't promise anything. They are all pretty worried, all secretly fretting that they will never see friends and loved ones again.

November 2009

The loud scraping of metal on metal had a satisfying yet irritating ring to the ears. It could make a man go deaf. If prolonged enough, Francis was sure he would not be able to hear either of the Scout rave on and on about their new lives.

He had to take a breath and stop himself before he ruined his project. Just thinking about their frustrating behavior made him a little frustrated. Granted, it was not their faults. It was not as if either Scout had done something to the Engineer. Either of them might have helped if they knew.

The Spies already tried helping. That was, until they both split last week. Nobody knew what happened. Both Spies just up and disappeared without a trace. It was easy to credit random disappearance for a day or two, but a week? Neither of them had shown their faces to work since they vanished.

There was not much else that he could do. Work at least distracted him. It brought him a passive feeling of something to do with his hands. Working was what he was best at.

A loud knocking came from nearby. He really did not want to answer it, but the polite gentleman in him reacted on instinct by putting down the file. He turned to look at whoever was dwelling in the entrance to his workshop. He was very surprised to see his BLU counterpart standing there, looking nervous and shifting uneasily.

“Well howdy, BLU,” he beckoned the man inside. A horse could kick him in the head before he could ever remember to get the man’s name. They had been on good terms for nearly seventeen years now, and they had yet to sit down and formally get to know each other.

“Good evening, Francis,” the other Engineer nodded in kind. Oh sure, everybody else knew _his_ name by now. “I was uh…I’m not interrupting anything, am I? If you’re busy, I can come back. Ow!” the BLU Engineer flinched, as if suddenly shocked by something.

“Nah, I should take a break,” he picked up a used rag to wipe his hands on, “What’s eating at you?”

“It’s about Spy,” the BLU said, hesitantly.

“Oh…that crush, huh?” Francis chewed on the inside of his lip.

Of all the years that they had been friends, Francis was still surprised that nobody knew the truth. The Spies of all people should have known that the BLU Engineer pined after the BLU Spy. Neither one could know though, as it was a secret that would live and die with the two Engineers.

“Oh uh, I don’t know what you mean,” the Engineer spoke loudly and awkwardly, “No this has to do with…uh…well…Spy disappeared.”

“I’m aware,” Francis nodded, “Both of ‘em did. It’s odd. It ain’t right. You heard from either of them?”

“Well…” the BLU shifted from foot to foot uneasily, “I uh…I know where they are.”

“Well?” Francis pressed, “Don’t leave me in suspense. Tell me where they are!”

“Right here,” the man’s head dropped a bit, looking down at his hands.

“Huh?” Francis furrowed his brow, hoping that it was not some metaphor for something terrible happening to the Spies. As little as he knew about them, he did not wish them death.

“They’re here,” the BLU Engineer raised his hands, revealing a pair of figures moving on his palms and fingers.

Francis set his file aside as he approached the BLU. The closer he got, the better he could see the life-like caricatures of the RED and BLU Spies. They were maybe five inches in height. The BLU was trying to stand on his feet, but he was unsteady on the Engineer’s palms. The RED had quit on standing, sitting with his legs dangling between the Engineer’s fingers.

“Would you look at that!” Francis exclaimed. He pushed back his helmet to scratch his scalp.

“Engineer! Please help us!” the RED Spy waved to him. His voice was so weak from how small he was.

Francis blinked at the Spies in disbelief, “How in the…how did this happen?”

“Well,” the BLU Engineer hesitated, “I was working on a new rendition of the teleporter. I’ve been working on a model scale, a small scale. I made it functioning though. Seems I left it functioning though.”

“So how the held does that relate to this?” Francis gestured to the Spies.

“The model was small,” the BLU Engineeer explained, “But apparently it wirelessly connected to the entrance I set up outside of respawn. These boys went through it before the idiots sapped and broke both the small models and the entrance I set up.”

“Hey! I didn’t sap them!” the BLU Spy exclaimed, “We had a fight and I tried to protect your damn teleporters!”

“Oh calm down,” the RED Spy grumbled irritably, “It’s not as if you put up a good fight about it.”

Francis set his hardhat aside, “How the hell did you pull this off? Why did you even have it running? Oh hell, why don’t you just put it back together?”

“These damn idiots broke and messed it up, like I told you,” the BLU Engineer.

“Yes, and?” Francis pressed.

“It took me six damn years to put those teleporters together,” the BLU Engineer grumbled as he tossed the Spies at a nearby work bench. The two men scrambled across the rough wood table, attempting to keep on their feet.

“Ya’ll couldn’t have picked a better time to be idiots,” Francis chuckled.

He could not help but smile, and he could not erase it either. There was something satisfying about knowing that the Spies had not gone far. It was not even of their own wills either. Perhaps it was because the lot of them had been friends for near two decades now. Whatever the case, it was good to see that they did not just up and leave.

“Apologies for my brother’s stupidity. My own actions were simply my job,” the RED Spy said cooly. He opened his disguise kit and gave a sad sigh.

“Me? You’re the one who sapped _all_ of the teleporters!” the BLU exclaimed.

“Hey hey!” the BLU Engineer held up both hands to the Spies, “Don’t start this up again. Ya’ll have had enough time to fight it out. Now it’s time for solutions. Unfortunately I am beside myself on fixing this.”

“Should be rather easy,” Francis shrugged.

“It wasn’t easy to make before,” the BLU Engineer shook his head.

“That’s because you were setting up a new _kind_ of teleporter,” Francis patted his shoulder, “We just gotta set up a small entrance and a large exit.”

“One problem with that plan,” the BLU Engineer pointed out, “The scale of both exit and entrance have to be the same as the relative reverse were.”

“Why is that?” Francis was starting to think the man was overthinking this whole situation.

“If we simply eyeball the sizes, the proportions with which they come out with could be all wrong,” the BLU explained, with worry in his tone, “It could be detrimental.”

Francis patted his shoulder a few times, “Look. We’ll figure this out. Did you bring what you had for what you were working on?”

“I brought blueprints,” the BLU Engineer fished some blue papers out of a pocket, “And I have an exit set up by the base, if that helps.”

“That should do,” Francis nodded.

A knocking came at the door and both Engineers looked up to the see the RED Sniper. The tall man paused, looking over the situation that was going on in this room. His lips parted, but he licked them before he spoke.

“Miss Pauling is here. She wants to speak with everybody,” Sniper said.

The Engineers shared a look. His BLU counterpart had a worried frown on his face. There was a brief glance at the Spies too.

“We have a bit of an issue,” Francis turned to the Sniper. The Sniper shifted, his eyes quickly darting away from the Engineer’s gaze. “Spy ain’t around to meet with her.”

“That’s fine,” the Sniper kept his eyes away from Francis’ eyes.

Just the act of looking away made a fire burn deep inside of Francis’ soul. It built up so quickly nowadays. The anger could sustain itself nowadays, he did not even need the Sniper’s behavior to fuel it. He was already enraged with the Sniper.

“I think she just wants to talk to who all is here,” Sniper paused to look at the BLU Engineer. Of course, he would meet the _other_ Engineer’s eyes. He would talk directly to that man like it was not a problem. “You should probably disappear before she finds out though.”

“Right right,” the BLU Engineer nodded, “I’ll be sure to get back to my…uh…” He glanced down at the Spies, then up to Francis.

“You take them back,” Francis gestured to the Spies, “Keep them out of trouble for the time being.”

The BLU Engineer nodded and lowered his hand to the table. The Spies climbed onto his hand without argument. Even the RED Spy did not protest. They just quietly took seats on the Engineer’s palm and waited to be hidden against his chest.

“I’ll see you later in the evening,” Francis replied, “Miss Pauling will probably visit your base too. Be ready for that.”

The BLU Engineer nodded in agreement, “Good point. See you later.”

With that, the BLU Engineer left. The RED Engineer turned to the Sniper, joining him to walk to the main section of the base. They were both quiet though, as though there was too much awkwardness between them to talk.

Francis breathed carefully, as he did not want to reveal his anger. He had been angry with the Sniper for years. He had yet to tell him though. Whenever he thought of confronting the man about it, he just came to a cyclical monologue in his mind that led him to feeling foolish.

Walking this close to the Sniper reminded him of how foolish he felt. His heart still skipped beats when they were close together. At the same time, there were still times when the proximity was a comfort more than anything. It was not as true as it used to be, when they were friends and things were not so odd.

Why did it have to be like this, he wondered. He did not even glance at the other man, knowing it would just prolong the awkwardness of it all. The Sniper would keep on avoiding him, while pretending not to be avoiding him.

It was his own fault, he was sure. It had been seventeen years since their feelings were aired out. Ever since then, everything had just deteriorated. At first, he thought maybe they were better off just being like good friends as always. As time went on, it seemed like that time of sharing their feelings had meant nothing. Now Francis was left with his feelings and this pent-up sensation that they may have grown apart and he was just sitting back to watch it happen.

He took another breath. He was getting too worked up about this. They were going to go see Miss Pauling, so this was not the time for him to be angry. He did not need Miss Pauling to think that he was mad at her when he was really just frustrated with the Sniper.

He put on his best smile when they entered the recreation room together. The entire RED team was gathered there. That was, aside from the Spy, who Francis knew was with the BLU Spy and BLU Engineer.

“I’m afraid that this is all we have, since Spy split a few weeks ago,” the Demoman spoke up.

“It was only a week ago,” Scout argued.

“What?” the Demoman gave him a confused look.

“Spy disappeared like a week ago. Ain’t you paying attention?” Scout asked.

“There might have been a problem with the respawn!” the Soldier announced, with a tinge of fear on his tongue, “Miss Pauling, can you send somebody to check on it.”

“No, it wasn’t the respawn,” Miss Pauling shook her head, “If this is everybody, then please um…well I guess there’s no easy way to say it. So, I’ll let the Administrator say it.”

Miss Pauling turned to the small black television. Everybody started gathering around to see. A few of them took seats on the couch to watch the television comfortably.

Miss Pauling stepped aside as an image came onto the screen. Francis watched as the prim and proper looking Administrator appeared on the screen. She barely looked like she had aged since they had last seen her decades ago.

“You’re fired,” the Administrator said simply.

“What?” the Demoman leaped to his feet.

A clamor of noises followed. They all were in disbelief at what they were just told. They started asking questions of the obviously prerecorded video.

Miss Pauling waited until their voices died down. She watched as they returned to their neutral positions, waiting for them to be calm. She was not going to try and shout over their voices, not when they had such powerful voices that were attuned to yelling over other loud noises.

She spoke once they were all quiet and paying attention to her, “You are being asked to clear out within a week. I have some job offers here for you boys, and I’ll be back in a few days to collect signed contracts from you. We are simply closing down this location.”

“Well, you’re confusing us,” the Demoman told her.

“We still would like you boys to work for us at Mann Co,” Miss Pauling explained, “We’re just…closing the work on this location.”

“Closing the work on this location? Are you insane?” Scout asked with disbelief, “We’ve been fighting over this land for decades!”

“I’ve been here for maybe forty years,” Francis commented.

“The uh…” Miss Pauling hesitated, “The Mann family has come to an agreement over this particular plot of land. We’ll be clearing it out to use for something else.”

“This isn’t fair!” Soldier declared, slamming his fist into the arm rest.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Pauling had an apologetic look on her face. Francis would easily believe that she truly was sorry to deliver this kind of news.

“What are we going to do?” Demoman asked.

“How can work without Mann Co?” Heavy asked.

“There is…a lot for us to worry about here, Miss Pauling,” Medic put in, “We don’t just have our jobs to worry about anymore.”

“Look guys…” Miss Pauling lifted her hands defensively, “I know this is going to be hard. I know that…certain things have gone on…and you guys have more investment in this job than most would. That is why I am suggesting that none of you fight this. Don’t go to Mann Co. Don’t bring this up. Don’t have _anybody_ look at the security footage! I do have some job offers though.”

Heavy buried his face in his hands, “Miss Pauling knows?”

“Miss Pauling knows what?” Scout asked.

“I uh…” Miss Pauling hesitated.

“What does Miss Pauling know?” Soldier asked, dumbfounded.

“You know?” Medic looked terrified. He looked ready to flee as he stared at her with big eyes.

“I…” she looked around the room, “I know…some things…but I am going to try and help you. That’s why _I’m_ here and not somebody else.”

“Miss Pauling is a Spy!” Soldier leaped to his feet and picked the small woman by the front of her coat.

He gave her a shake then froze. He stared at her for a long time, slowly setting her on her feet. He was quiet as he took a step back. For a long while, he did not say a thing, just staring at her as she stared back in terror.

“She is not a Spy,” Soldier informed the others, before returning to his seat.

“Thank you, Soldier,” Francis said, stepping forward, “Miss Pauling, we’ll cooperate. So long as…certain things stay quiet. Alright?” He looked to his teammates to check to make sure that they were on the same train of thought.

“You can’t just kick us out of here!” Scout declared.

“This is our home! This is our work,” the Demoman’s voice became somber.

“We invested a lot into this place,” the Medic added, “We’ve even upgraded its facilities ourselves at times.”

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Miss Pauling looked like she was on the breaking point with this. If she had to hear any more of them protest, she might be unable to continue speaking.

“Look boys,” Francis took a few steps forward, appearing in the _center stage_ in a sense, “We had a good run. This was our home…for a time. We worked hard and we put a lot of effort into it. That shows. We can’t forget what we came here for though. This was never meant to be our last home. This was a job. We are mercenaries, hired to work on contracts.”

“My laboratory!” the Medic spouted with grief. His hands were upraised with hope yet despair as he was being forced to accept to leave it behind.

“But I…we’ll…the others…and we…” Scout looked around, his voice choking up as he spoke.

“I know, I know,” Francis said softly, “Let’s not forget that at the end of the day, these facilities belong to Mann Co. If we ain’t working, then there’s no staying.”

A mournful sigh filled the air. Francis took his hardhat off for emphasis. He had a whole workshop full of unfinished projects and stuff he had been working on. The base itself was full of so many memories. He would miss it all so much that he was not sure he could stand at the front and center of attention for much longer.

“We put a lot into this place, and our work is done,” Francis finalized his words, “I reckon it’ll be a bit before we can settle into our respective…new locations. We’ll make the best of the next few days and pack our things. Doc, I reckon the rest of us can give you a hand with packing up your lab. I’m sure you’ll want your tools for the next job.”

“What would I do with a laboratory’s worth of tools without a lab,” the man pouted, refusing to look at anybody else.

“We’ll take care of getting ready to move out,” Francis turned to Miss Pauling, “You give us someplace to go to and we’ll be out.”

“I…I can’t leave,” Scout pleaded.

“I’m…sorry Scout,” Miss Pauling glanced at the Scout before she hurried out of the room.

A long silence followed. There was breathing, even emotionally saturated huffing. Clothes whispered as men moved about. Francis’ boots scuffed against the floor as he shifted his weight from leg to leg. It was just about the most heart-breaking moments of silence Francis had witnessed in over forty years.

“We’re all getting kicked out,” Scout’s head hung low as he bent over his knees.

The Soldier patted the younger man’s back, “Cheer up, Scout! We’ll be alright! Miss Pauling is bringing us new contracts!”

“Yea, for a different place,” Scout grumbled, “I don’t want to leave here.”

“It’s not like it’s such a glamorous place,” the Demoman said, with a grating tone.

“Ain’t it been something we’ve all wanted to do? To see more of what’s out there?” Francis asked them.

A few moments of silence answered him as they all looked to him. Their unblinking eyes stared at him for the longest time. He was not even sure what to make of it, considering they had yet to say a word.

“No,” the Soldier spoke up.

“If team is broken up by contracts, Heavy will never see any of you again,” the big man moved from his spot to gesture to all of the men in the room. There was a small silence filled with appreciative smiles from his teammates. “We are not all friends, but all men here on good terms. We are team!”

“It’s unfortunate to be separated like this, I do agree,” Francis nodded.

“I have to talk to Merasmus,” the Soldier stood up.

“Maybe we should all get some sleep,” the Medic insisted, “This will only bog us down if we dwell on it.”

“Right,” Francis nodded, “Good eve to ya’ll. I’m just going to clean up some things in the workshop.”

 

 

When Francis made his way out to the workshop, he at first did not hear the footsteps. When he caught them, he chose to ignore them at first. When he realized that they were getting closer, he stopped to turn.

Of course the long stride had been too big for the small BLU Engineer. None other than the Sniper had come to meet with Francis, though he was not sure why. He put on a smile, as he realized that this might be the Sniper’s attempt to finally reconnect with him.

“Hey Zachary,” Francis smiled.

“Engie,” the Sniper gave him a nod of greeting, “Came to check on you.” The man gave a big dramatic shrug.

“Oh,” Francis furrowed his brow, “Anything else?”

“No,” Zachary shook his head, “You looked upset.”

His lips thinned to a tight squeeze. The gall brought him to a peak of fury. It was a struggle not to do something about the ball of flames sitting at the bottom of his gut.

“You doing alright?” the Sniper asked.

“As a matter of fact, I-” footsteps caught their ears and they both turned to the BLU Engineer running towards them.

He was tired and out of breath as he stumbled towards them, “Fellas! BLU…BLU team has been fired!”

“What?” Francis had to reframe his mindset in order to absorb that information.

“Figures as much,” Zachary nodded, “Miss Pauling told us we were fired too. Or she had the Administrator do it.”

“A prerecording,” Francis commented.

“Ya’ll got fired too?” the BLU Engineer looked like he had yet to consider this.

“Yup,” Francis nodded, “I was just headed to the workshop to start cleaning and packing.”

“Didn’t ya hear? We should get some sleep instead?” Zachary argued.

“Well then, why don’t you head off to your little camper for a night all by your lonesome,” Francis barely held back the clip tone of voice.

The Sniper blinked at him, dumbfounded by his words. He did not say anything as he walked off to his camper on his own. The silence he left behind could have been cut with a knife. That tension forced Francis to breathe heavier than he intended to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These characters are all from Pocket Merc. For those who did not catch on, Francis is the RED Engineer. He was the "Pocket Engineer"


	3. New Employment for the Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis considers his options and picks employment.

The following few days were a cross between packing and helping his BLU counterpart figure out the issue with the teleporters. The Spies were in a panic, desperate to be their own size. In a few more days though, neither Engineer would have access to his workshop.

“So uh…you got troubles with the Sniper?” the BLU asked.

Francis paused what he was doing and looked at his counterpart. The man shifted, looking a level of nervous that bordered on terrified. He was looking back down at his hammer again.

“Spy wanted to know,” the BLU insisted.

Francis hesitated, looking over at the table where the Spies were trying to make the best of their time. They both looked up. The RED looked disinterested. The BLU one shot the BLU Engineer a glare.

“Engineer, you are of no help!” the Spy barked.

“I asked him, didn’t I?” the BLU Engineer protested.

With a sigh, Francis set his tools down. They were far from figuring out the configuration anyways. There was no point for him in continuing to work while distracted.

Suddenly, the door opened and the RED Heavy came stomping in. He paused to look over what was going on. The BLU Engineer looked away, afraid of what might happen. He was still technically not supposed to be there, but Francis knew that his teammate would look the other way on this.

“Miss Pauling is here,” Heavy announced, “Engineer has decided on contract?”

Francis paused at the question. He wiped his hands on a rag, before retrieving a set of papers he had left on his desk. He had not seen these in a couple of days, and had yet to finish looking through them.

“Ah hell,” the BLU Engineer dropped his hammer on a table, “I should get over to BLU before she gets there.”

“See you around,” Francis nodded to him.

“Little Spies are knowing about contracts?” the Heavy asked.

Both Engineers froze and looked at the tiny Spies. The Spies looked awkward, glancing at each other before waving at the RED Heavy. Nobody said a thing for a few moments. It was not like this was some sort of conspirator secret. They simply had not told anybody because it was inconvenient to do so.

“Our own contracts? No, we did not receive them,” the RED Spy spoke up.

“Even if we did, I don’t think we could even do them,” the BLU Spy added with a shrug.

“Yea, we’re in the middle of…fixing them,” Francis explained.

“Teleporter trouble,” the BLU Engineer nodded.

“Shouldn’t you be at BLU now?” Francis looked at his counterpart, “Go!”

The BLU Engineer gave a curt nod before he fled. Francis turned back to the Heavy with an awkward chuckle. He was glad that the man had yet to act poorly about all of this. He just hoped that he could keep on the man’s good side for a while longer.

“You won’t tell any of the others about this, will you?” Francis asked, patting the Heavy’s big arm, “It ain’t like I ain’t going to tell them sooner or later. I was just hoping to get this taken care of before problems sprung up.”

“Is bad time to be waiting,” the Heavy gave him a look of concern, “We have few more days. Then out.”

“Yea, yea I know,” Francis nodded.

“It would be beneficial to us, if you could keep this embarrassing incident quiet for a while more,” the RED Spy put in.

“Yea, I don’t think I could show my face, after how we’ll get ripped by the Scouts if they find out,” the BLU Spy said with worry.

“I’m not ready for that at this height,” the RED Spy groaned.

“Da, will not tell,” the Heavy replied, “But Engineer should bring contract. Which contract did choose?”

“Well,” Francis looked at the papers, “I guess it’s time to choose, ain’t it?”

He stepped out of the workshop and waited for Heavy. He locked up the door to prevent anyone from getting in, then hurried to the main base. He obviously just wanted to get back to work, but this was important enough not to skip.

“Did Engineer pick a contract?” Heavy asked, almost pleadingly.

“N-no, not yet,” Francis admitted.

“Oh,” the big gravelly voice did not catch his attention as easily as it usually did. Francis’ mind was already digging through those papers, seeking sudden relief. It was paired with the realization that he had yet to confer with the Sniper yet. He did not even know what kind of job the man was looking to do after this, or if there was one available where they could work together.

Heavy led him to the mess hall. There, everybody was using the table. They were filling out forms and discussing things with Miss Pauling. The small woman looked frazzled beyond belief. Her hair was a mess and her glasses were a little crooked. The poor thing looked over-worked.

“Miss Pauling,” he nodded to her in greeting.

“Engineer,” she waved to him in greeting as well, giving him a half-pleasant smile. She just looked too tired to manage a full smile.

Francis took a seat at the table where nobody was sitting. He put his contracts out before himself. There was so much information to go through, and he had yet to get started on it all.

“Engie, you’re usually on top of everything,” Miss Pauling gave him a hopeful smile, “Do you know yet which contract you want to sign onto?”

“Honestly, I don’t,” Francis shook his head, feeling a bit ashamed of himself for it.

Francis drowned in the words of each contract. Lucky for him, he was well-versed in the art of reading. He had also had enough practice in skimming from back in his university days to be able to get through each page quickly.

“No, look…I…I can’t explain. I need you to put the other Sniper and the other Scout in the same job…I mean, obviously I wouldn’t be working with them. I would be working against them,” Scout’s voice was pulling Francis out of his reading trance.

“I’m sorry, Scout,” Miss Pauling sounded genuinely remorseful, “I don’t have anything that would fit the three of you. RED Sniper’s already taken the position. You and the other Scout can work there though? Hey Engie!”

Finally, Francis looked up from what he was reading. He could already read a sense of desperation and panic on Scout’s red face. Poor boy looked like he might cry. Aside from severe amounts of pain induced by physical trauma, Francis had not seen him cry from emotional torment.

“We do have an opening there for you too,” Miss Pauling gestured to the Engineer.

“Best opening,” Zachary just sort of slipped into the conversation by sitting down next to Francis. He fingered through Francis’ papers and pulled one of the contracts out. “This one, we can work together,” Zachary insisted.

Francis looked at the Sniper, then to Miss Pauling and the Scout. Scout was shaking and red. A sheer gleam of sweat decorated his skin. Finally, he pulled down his ball cap, not wanting people to see his face as he saw defeat.

“You can’t find him another job with the BLU Sniper and Scout?” Francis asked, figuring at this point there was no point to trying to reword it all for her. She probably knew more than they wanted her to.

“No, not really,” she hesitated, with a light rouge on her cheeks. “There’s one, but all of the BLUs refused. In fact, most everybody refuses that job. Whether it’s for moral reasons or because they overlook it is beyond me.”

“Moral reasons?” Francis pressed, his tongue wetting his lips.

“Look, just sign this one,” the Sniper pressed, not wanting the Engineer to go off on a tangent just yet.

“Just a moment,” Francis gestured for him to wait with a soft tone.

“Sniper said he wanted the job,” Miss Pauling gestured to Zachary, “I figured you would want that job too.”

Francis rolled his tongue around his mouth, thinking about the situation. If there were alternatives, then Scout should take it. Though, it did not seem that the BLU Sniper was being very fair.

“Mind showing me this _alternative_ job?” he asked, gesturing for Miss Pauling to come over, “I’d like to have a look at it.”

“Oh…okay,” Miss Pauling walked over to fish through his contracts. Being somewhat familiar with them already, she found was she was looking for. She pulled it out and set it on top of the messy stack. “Here it is, but…I don’t think you’ll be interested in that job.”

“I’ll have a look at it, Miss,” he took the papers and smoothed them out.

Zachary sighed irritably, “Come on, mate! You’re wasting a lot of time on nothing!”

“Not nothing, I’m looking at my options,” Francis argued.

“Nah! I found the perfect job so we could go there together,” Zachary protested.

Francis was halfway through the page and the terms _sexual conduct_ and _sexual orientation_ came up. His brow furrowed as he tried to focus more on the paper in his hands. It was an unusual job, offering a high wage upon health benefits they already had, for work in the pornographic industry.

“Look mate, I don’t know what’s wrong or what you’re doing, but it ain’t funny. Okay?” Zachary tapped his finger to the table pointedly.

Francis tried to ignore him as he read on. There was mostly vague stuff, to keep the companies involved out of trouble. Mann Co would provide medical treatment for the benefits, as it did here. However, it would be the film studios’ job to provide work and wages.

Zachary sighed in exasperation and leaned over the table onto his elbows. He was frowning at Francis, easily enough that the Engineer could see it from his peripheral view. He was quiet for a while, perhaps waiting for an answer.

The contract began to go into more details about the work. It went on about how the studio would decide based on demand as to whether partners in these productions would be male or female. The more it went on detailing these things, the hotter Francis’ face got. He could understand why the BLU Sniper would refuse a job like this.

“Fine, read the whole contract, I don’t care,” the Sniper huffed and turned away, trying to feign disinterest.

Finally, Francis looked up over at Scout. He had himself perched on a chair near a corner, with his knees tucked against his chest. He was chewing on his lip, but not in the way that said he was thinking, but in a way that said he was trying to pretend he was not in pain. Francis had seen that look many times during visits to the Medic.

Francis sighed, letting it out with a huff. He set the contract down as he considered his options. Whichever job he chose would not conflict with the BLU Sniper getting the job. He was a non-factor in all of this. That said, it was clear that Zachary had chosen this job with their relationship in mind. Or at least their friendship, as at this point Francis was not sure they had ever been anything more than that in the past seventeen years. If he chose to take the job planned out for him, he would affirm the RED Sniper’s position in taking the job that the BLU Sniper needed to be with the Scouts.

He looked down at the contract. He tried not to think of all the filthy dirty things that he would be doing in such a job. Not to mention it being all recorded for somebody else’s pleasure.

No turning back once he had made his decision. With his mind made up, he pushed all of those thoughts aside. It did not matter how dirty the alternative was, Scout needed this job. Both Scouts needed this job, to stay together with the BLU Sniper.

Francis got up from the table and walked over to Scout. He looked like he needed a friend more than anything right now. All curled up on his chair, he seemed very close to falling off of the edge and breaking that emotional dam.

“Hey Scout,” he said as he approached, “Are you doing alright?”

Scout looked up at him then hesitated, “Can we talk? Alone, I mean?”

“Well, sure,” Francis gestured to the door.

Scout hopped right up onto his feet and strolled out of the door. Francis paused halfway there, seeing Zachary glowering at him from his peripheral vision. The moment he tried to look at the Sniper, the man whipped his head around to look away.

Francis shook his head as he stepped out and headed down the hall, looking for the spritely youth. He glanced around, before realizing that the younger man had entered the recreational room. He stepped inside to see that the television had been turned on, with some old rerun of Demoman’s conspiracy documentaries.

“Oh hey,” Scout greeted, as if he had not been expecting him.

“You wanted to talk?” Francis asked, taking a seat on the couch.

“Yea…well uh…” Scout sat at the other end of the couch from him, “I kind of need a friend…right now.”

“I’m right here to listen,” Francis replied.

Scout just sort of deflated at that, as if relieved by the acceptance of what he needed, “I just…need to talk, okay? So, things have been going good. Me and the guys, we’ve been having a lot of great bonding times. But it feels like only yesterday that it stopped being awkward. Do you know how hard it was to make all of this feel…well, normal?”

“I can only imagine,” Francis commented.

“Well, it wasn’t just BLU Sniper though,” Scout went on, “Like, he’s a strict guy. He’s quiet, but he knows how to put his foot down. But Scout was also like…really weirded out by the shit in that contract. I don’t blame him, I’m weirded out too. But I think he’s like…a different weirded out. Like…he can’t do it. He can’t do what they want. We both wanna protect him, so Sniper was the one who refused the job under all circumstances. You know?”

“I think I do,” Francis nodded, “I don’t blame you for protecting him. It’s a…bit of a weird contract. I didn’t expect to find something like that amidst our prospective jobs.”

“It’s just…now I don’t know what to do,” Scout sighed and closed his eyes, “RED Sniper’s a dick by the way. I know he’s like…your boyfriend, but he’s a jerk.”

Francis did not have much to say to that. Scout never really liked their Sniper all that much. It just seemed that he had the foulest of opinions about him.

“This morning I tried to talk to him about the job he’s taking? Yea…guy told me to fuck off and mind my own business. What kind of jerk does that?” Scout scoffed, clearly still offended by the Sniper’s off-putting behavior.

“The two of you don’t have the best of histories,” Francis said, turning his gaze to the ground.

He did not deserve that job, not when it blocked those three. He remembered clearly how it was when it all started. He remembered the awkwardness and how the BLU Spy just sort of introduced the three person relationship idea without a second thought.

For seventeen years, Francis watched Scout’s relationship blossom. Francis himself was the kind of guy Scout came to for somebody to talk to, just like this. Thus, he heard all about how Scout’s first kiss with a real man was, how he and the other Scout blossomed in their friendship, and how their relationship and flourished into something out of a weird romance book hidden at the back of a library.

Francis tried to summon up a description of his relationship with Zachary. All he could come up with was _nothing_. Their relationship was nearly non-existent. They just did nothing to push it forward. Hell, he even became a bit jealous that Scout _had_ gotten a kiss. Francis had not had a kiss since he first confronted Zachary about it.

“Scout, I’m gonna do all I can to help you get that job,” Francis insisted.

“Nah, you don’t gotta do nothing,” Scout said dismissively, “It ain’t your fault. Besides, we know that guy doesn’t listen to anybody once he has his mind set.”

Francis quirked an eyebrow at him curiously. Sure, Zachary was stubborn, but he was not usually that terrible. Then again, Francis never considered that the man would disregard others for his own rewards.

“I’ve already got my own mind set,” Francis rose to his feet.

“Yea?” Scout looked a little worried.

“Come on boy, let’s settle this,” he beckoned for the Scout to follow.

“Yea, okay,” Scout huff, “I gotta pick something sooner or later.”

They returned to the mess hall to find Heavy and Demoman wrestling. Heavy was clearly winning. Either way, Soldier was cheering for the American side.

He would miss this team and these men. He had friends here. Heavy was a kind hearted man who would look out for others. Demoman was hard to figure out but definitely somebody you wanted on your side. Soldier was boisterous and loud, but he was a well-meaning fella. Scout could be crude or he could be very thoughtful. Medic was on the angry side, but he was still a good man. Pyro was a sweet creature with an enjoyment for an assortment of girlish things, especially stuffed toys. Spy was a neat fella, though he was one of the quieter types.

Then there was the Sniper. Something had made him hope that they would just all end up together. Maybe that was just not meant to be.

When he stepped up to the table, he took the contract he had been reading last. He double checked to make sure he had the right one too. He dared not make a mistake at this moment.

He turned to Miss Pauling and dropped the contract again, “I’ve made my decision.”

“Oh good! Which one did you choose?” she asked.

Without answering, he started signing. He signed his name on each line. He wanted it to be perfectly clear to others that he had already set his mind to this. There was no stopping him, now that he was covering every piece of paper with his name.

“Engie’s got his job!” Soldier announced, unaware of what he was really signing, “Good for you!”

Francis glanced up to see the Soldier giving him a thumbs up. He quickly turned his eyes back to the paper as he signed. He wanted to finish signing. He did not want to look at anymore of those dirty words. He just wanted to sign it and be done.

“Francis!” the Sniper exclaimed, “That’s not the right contract!”

“It is for me,” the Engineer replied.

The curious Scout sidled over to look at what he was signing. Francis watched his complexion from his peripheral vision. Mostly his expression did not change, but his skin started turning rouge.

“There are lots of other jobs, Engie,” Miss Pauling offered in a whisper.

“Yea well, I picked this one,” Francis poked at the paper with his pen before returning to signing.

“Dammit Truckie!” Zachary suddenly threw stapled papers to the floor.

“Sniper! Clean that up, will ya?” the Demoman scorned.

“I made sure to get to Pauling first with this contract!” the Sniper protested, moving closer to Francis, “I got this job, so that we could work together!”

Francis shook his head, “Well, I suppose there’ll be other options for ya, if you don’t want to work alone.”

His face contorted with anger, and he looked ready to start swinging. Even so, the Sniper pressed, trying to reason with the Engineer on this issue. He thought that he could actually change his mind about this after the papers were signed. Granted, Francis had not considered that Zachary might have already signed his paperwork.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” the Sniper growled.

Francis signed the last page then stood upright. He turned to face Zachary squarely. He kept his chin up and kept his jaw firm.

“If you’ve got something to say to me, then say it. I ain’t got a lot of time to listen to you yammer. If you would rather stick to your own plans, that’s fine. Guess I won’t be seeing you around much anymore,” he said firmly.

Zachary’s mouth hung open for a while. He looked so dazed and befuddled. It was as if somebody had just smacked him in the face with a dead cat. He was quiet for a long time. Many of the others were too, listening to what was going on.

“I don’t get it,” Zachary met his gaze with confusion.

Francis sighed, “Of course you don’t. Seventeen years, ain’t nothing changed.”

Silence followed him out to the workshop. The place was all locked up as he had left it. He unlocked it and stepped inside to get right to work. He ignored the Spies trying to talk to him for the rest of the day.


	4. Old Auction House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The place to sign up for work is a strange old place.

The drive was a long one. When the truck pulled in, Dooley was more than ready for a bathroom break. Maxwell had refused to drive and he had been sitting there tapping his foot by the pedals for near half an hour already.

He pulled in next to another older looking truck and put it in park. Strangely enough, the parking area was made of gravel and grass. What was apparently the studio looked like the makings of an old barn and stables, probably an old auction house, given the parking space.

“Excuse me, while I go do a job,” Maxwell climbed out of the car.

“Excuse me while I do my business,” Dooley muttered bitterly.

He climbed out of the truck and looked around. The sky was a vibrant blue with very few clouds. There were pretty birds chirping nearby, likely greeting the new day.

He went back to the tailgate since it was facing away from the building. He would not be making it to any facilities, so he might as well make it quick. It was not like Maxwell was going to find out anyways.

His sigh of relief was immediately followed by the dread of crunching boots. He looked up to see a man with a yellow hardhat walking over to the door of the older truck. He quickly turned his eyes down, hoping the other would just mind his own business.

“Ya’ll know where they’re doing sign ins? They got us lined up like cattle over there,” the Texan drawl caught his ear with familiarity.

“I uh…don’t know,” he raised his eyes, as he realized that looking down would look too weird. Look up and away. Look anywhere but down.

He caught the gaze of the other man. There was the burning humiliation for a moment, as the other man’s eyebrows shifted. He had realized what was happening.

“Beggin’ your pardon,” the man quickly turned to his truck as he opened the door.

“Sorry, I thought nobody’d be out here,” Dooley felt his face grow hotter as he wished he could just be finished.

“Don’t mind me,” the man said, digging through his truck, “I’m just here to grab some things.”

Dooley hurried with the zipper and rushed to the driver’s seat of his truck. He grabbed the sanitary wipes that Max kept around, not wanting to seem like a dirty bum. Worst part of it was that even as he was wiping his hands, he could not get his face to cool down.

He was surprised when he closed the door to find that the other man was waiting on him. He had a jacket tossed over a shoulder and had a boot up on the railroad tie. Their eyes met and for a moment, Dooley could not help but smile at him.

“Name’s Francis McKragen,” the man nodded to him, “You can call me Frank.”

“D-Dooley, Dexter Dooley,” he offered nervously.

“Can I call you Dex?” he asked coolly.

“S-sure!” he was brimming with excitement as the two of them started off side by side towards what was definitely once used for livestock. He could still identify the remains of various animal droppings deteriorating into the dirt.

They walked down an alley made of metal panel fences, following the walkway into an overhang where the line ended. Dooley glanced at the stalls to his left and right, imagining a few horses that might have been tied up there for auction. At least this was not the area where the worse stock was held, as the stink would have lingered longer.

“Starting to reckon this was something of a mistake,” Frank said with a worried frown.

“How’s that?” Dooley asked, turning his attention back to his new companion.

“Doesn’t seem like the kind of place a studio would set up hires to start at,” Frank explained, kicking at the dirty concrete bricks.

Dooley shrugged, “I dunno. I wouldn’t know. Not exactly the type. I uh…ain’t exactly been around the block or anything. Hell, I’m just here as a ride for a friend to get started.”

“Oh,” Frank turned his head away, pretending to be studying a broken and rotting flat of wood that was tied to the fence.

He took a breath and decided to explain further, “If it was up to me, I mean…we’d still be on the road. Probably in Utah by now.”

His face grew hot. Why did he say that? He should not have said that. He should not have given that away to what might still be a Mann Co employee.

“That is…ya’know…” Dooley hesitated.

“Starting work up there? I uh…wish I could say the same. Heard they have new bases sprouting up. Mine got closed recently. I uh…I took what I could get,” Frank’s words were a bit awkward and stammered.

“Oh well…I’ve been debating things,” Dooley could not seem to get his face to cool down.

“Yea?” was all that Frank said.

“Yea,” Dooley gave him a nod.

“I uh…” Frank scratched his chin, which had a handsome hue of graying stubble growing in, “I took this job to let a friend have the one I was banking for.”

“Really?” Dooley was impressed at the man’s kindness.

“Well something like that,” Frank shrugged, “I’m just hoping it works out for him. You know? He’s a good b- a good man.” Frank cleared his throat as he corrected his words.

Dooley smirked, feeling like he had a bit of upper hand now. He was keen to the way the other man stammered over the words about the other man. Perhaps there was a little history there to be poked at.

“So, ya’ll were close?” he asked.

“W-well,” Frank hesitated, “Not like…intimate. Just good friends. And it’s not like it didn’t benefit a few other friends too. They’ll be better off together. Ya’know?”

Dooley nodded, “A man who gives up his place for his friends. I can respect that.”

They shared a smile, then fell into the silence. The line barely budged along. Each inching step was incredibly irritating. It only became clearer and clearer to Dooley that he did not know what he was doing in this line. He was just moving along with Frank for no real reason. He was not the one who was here for the job with a porn studio.

They rounded a corner that led past what used to be a little snack bar. The window was boarded up, but the smell of stale chips hung in the air. Ahead of them they could see the double doors open, but not much more. The men taller than them were blocking the view at this point, leaving everything up to the imagination.

When they finally reached the doors, it became easier to see. To the left and right were stadium seats, where many other mercenaries were sitting and waiting. Some of them had papers in their hands that they were reading over.

Ahead of the line was the auction ring, circled by rubber covered ropes. What used to be sawdust bedding had been cleared out, leaving black rubber mats that had probably been spray cleaned with a hose. Above it was the auctioneer’s booth, where he could imagine a portly man sitting behind a microphone.

“There you are!” a familiar German voice caught his attention.

All he could think to say was, “Oh no.”

Both Engineers looked at a man scrabbling up along the benches to where they were waiting in line. Dooley wished he could pretend not to know him. Who was he kidding though? There was nobody else here that Maxwell feasibly knew.

He sighed and turning to the tall man approaching them, “So, you’re signing in too?” Max’s voice was oozing with such tease.

“No, actually he’s just keeping me company,” Frank gave Dooley a friendly little nudge.

Dooley looked between the two nervously. He was not sure what to say. Already he could see the disappointment on Maxwell’s face. There was no way the man would admit to being jealous that Dooley had not kept _him_ company, being a friend and all.

“Ya’ll came here together, right?” Frank asked.

“Ja, we drove in together,” Max shifted, holding his papers carefully in one hand.

“ _I_ drove,” Dooley corrected, a bit harshly.

Maxwell rolled his eyes while Frank chuckled. Dooley let the topic fall away at that.

“I’m Frank, by the way,” the other Engineer offered his hand to the Medic.

“Maxwell,” the Medic replied, shaking his hand.

Dooley blushed as he remembered that they had yet to shake hands. He tucked his hands into his pockets, knowing damn well why they had not had a proper handshake. There was slight jealousy that his new friend had been able to shake hands with his older friend before shaking hands with him.

“You’ll be working here too?” Frank asked.

Maxwell gave an awkward chuckle, “Well it…it’s a job. Isn’t it?”

“That it is,” Frank affirmed, undaunted by the reality that this was a porn studio they were signing up with.

“Hopefully we’ll see each other around on not so…tense terms,” Maxwell shrugged.

“Yea, albeit it’s not the most ideal position to be in,” Frank said, allowing a little of his discomfort to show.

“Well, Dooley? Will you be signing up?” Maxwell asked.

Dooley felt his face burn as he looked at the look on Maxwell’s face. There was something knowing and daring in that man’s smile. His grin stretched from ear to ear like a devil. If Dooley did not know better, he would have thought that the man was a devil.

“It’s just a job,” Frank put in, “Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Right,” Dooley said, wishing he could disappear right this moment. He could not believe himself, but he was actually starting to consider taking up this job.

Besides, it was not like he had any prospects in regards to relations. What was he going to do otherwise? Babysit Maxwell for all time? It had been way too long since he last got laid, and he needed a little something.

“Maybe I’ll take the job,” Dooley nodded slowly, “Ain’t like I can’t snake outta it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Frank laughed.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Francis felt pretty good about making friends. Dexter seemed like the kind of fellow he could have drinks with. He was not entirely sure why he suddenly chose to sign up for work here, but he had a hunch that he himself was the reason.

Of all the men Frnacis knew, Dexter was the most transparent. He was embarrassed about pissing around other men, and probably kept to private areas in that regard. His eyes often darted away bashfully, but they also wandered shamefully. He even turned pink whenever it seemed that they were standing too close to each other.

He did not know the shorter man too well, but he liked him. Maybe not like-like. He was definitely flattered though.

Dexter seemed like a guy he _could_ fall for. Unlike Sniper, Dexter seemed talkative. He was probably also more sensitive and intimate.

Those thoughts made Francis’ face burn. It only grew worse when Dexter sat down next to him. His German friend sat on the other side of Dexter.

“Looks like we’ll be having assignments here?” Maxwell seemed confused.

“Seems so,” Francis nodded, trying to ignore how that his face was.

“Strange,” Maxwell commented.

“According to the gentleman at the booth, they are avoiding legal scrutiny,” Dexter explained.

“How’s that?” Francis inquired.

“Probably for men like you and I,” Maxwell gestured to Dexter, then to himself.

“How do you mean?” Francis pressed.

“Probably best not to talk about it,” Dexter urged.

Francis’ attention was pulled away as a tall lanky man approached him. He looked up from the boots to the face beneath the hat. Zachary was looking back at him, with what he could only describe as being anger.

He lifted an eyebrow, silently questioning the man towering over him. Francis had not thought about him since the drive here. He had begun to think that was it and the Sniper was sticking to his choice.

“I signed up,” the Sniper tossed some papers onto Francis’ lap.

“Okay,” Francis handed the papers back.

“You wanted me to take _this_ job,” Zachary growled.

“No, I did not,” Francis glared up at him, “And I said no such thing.”

“The hell did you take it for then?” Zachary asked with frustration.

Francis rose to his feet. Zachary was still far taller, but at least he was not towering over him. He squared his feet to his shoulders.

“I took this job so that I would not be justifying you being a selfish ass,” he informed the Sniper, angrily.

“Oh I’m selfish?” Zachary scoffed.

“I think we should go,” Dexter quietly whispered to Maxwell.

“Don’t worry about it none, Dex,” Francis insisted.

“ _I’m_ the selfish one?” Zachary did not miss a beat, “That job was locked in! I had us set!”

“You never talked to me about it,” Francis argued.

“Didn’t think I had to,” Zachary raised his voice, “We were going to work together! We were…we were…you had only to sign the right damn contract! I worked hard to make sure I got that contract first!”

“Yea? Well you didn’t confer with me that that was the job I would be taking,” Francis argued, folding his arms over his chest, “If you wanted me to take the same job, you should have at least spoken with me.”

“It’s something that is…I don’t know…insinuated by the concept of being uh…” Zachary glanced at the two men sitting on the bench.

“Of being what? Hmm? More than friends?” Francis offered.

“Yes!” the Sniper barked.

“I don’t know who you think I am,” Francis said sternly, “But I ain’t the kind of man who supports messing up my friend’s futures.”

“What about me?!” the Sniper exclaimed.

“And what about you?” Francis growled. He glared up at the man angrily.

“We’re here now,” Zachary growled, “At a job where you’ll cheat on me.”

Francis drew his eyebrows down, “Can’t cheat, if you don’t’ have a significant other to cheat on.”

The flames were roaring in his chest. He could not put it out like this. So, he immediately turned and stomped away.

Behind him, a set of boots followed. He hurried his steps, stomping down the stairs to the exit aside of the auction ring. The big door banged loudly as he stepped outside. The air was cool and made the heat subside a little.

“What was that whole skit about?” Zachary demanded.

 

Francis breathed carefully. He refused to look at the Sniper. He did not want to look at or talk to him.

“What is all of this supposed to mean?” Zachary demanded.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Francis replied.

He tucked his hands into his pockets. He directed himself towards the gravelly parking area. He kept his eyes out there, because he did not want to pay attention to the man following him.

“You don’t get to just throw a fit and then strut off like a tom!” Zachary raised his voice again.

“Why not?” Francis did not look at him, “You have put off talking about this for seventeen years? How about we just not talk about it ever?”

“We have to talk about it sometime!” Zachary argued.

“Not if there is nothing to talk about,” Francis replied.

The footsteps behind him halted. He kept walking to get away from him. An uplifting sensation made his chest light and a satisfied smile grew on his face.

He kept on going, heading past the empty stalls. He stepped over the railway ties without a care. He did not even pay mind to the area around him. He just kept walking until he approached his truck.

He climbed into the driver’s seat. He sat there, staring at the dash. That was it, wasn’t it? He had cut his ties to Sniper, and was moving on with this stupid job.

He looked at the yellow notebook sitting on his passenger seat next to his duffle bag. On it were scribbled his team’s titles and information to contact them. He stared at it for a while, trying to decide what to do right now. Maybe he would call Scout, see how things are going and if the BLU Sniper took that job. Maybe he would contact the BLU Engineer, and see if he had figured out the specifications of the teleporters to fix the Spies’ little problem.

He chuckled to himself as he picked up the notebook. He smirked, putting the key in the ignition. No better time to head out to the nearby town to use a payphone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow build. We'll get to the stuff you came here for soon enough.


	5. First Time for McKragen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis goes for his first job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content ahead.

Francis looked at the paper in his hand. His first commission. It would be at this ruddy looking motel where it seemed most other mercenaries working in the porn industry were staying. One room was obviously set up for work, with a couple of white vans and a string of technology running out the door.

“Well, here I am,” he commented, looking at the partly open door.

He looked at the papers again, checking the time they would start filming. He climbed out of the truck with papers in hand. He wandered across the street from where he parked and into the motel’s parking lot.

He made his way to the door. His eyes darted around warily. He felt eyes on himself, watching for the curtains that would reveal somebody peeking at him.

“Francis McKragen?” a woman asked.

His head whipped around to look at her. His face grew hot with embarrassment and fear. “Uhh…yes,” he responded.

“Great, you’re up next,” the woman said.

“I am?” he could not make the heat go away from his cheeks.

“Let’s get started!” some man called from inside the room.

Francis took a breath. He could not calm himself down though. This was really happening. He would be walking right in there to perform sexual acts for entertainment.

He had not even thought of this the day before, when he was signing up. At least, he had not fully considered what he would be doing. He had not considered that he would be fully nude and exposed to other people and a camera. People would see him and judge him for every part of his body.

His heart was pounding as he stepped through the door. Inside the room were quite a few people. There was at least one cameraman, a soundman and two men talking to the side. A couple of other people were just standing around.

His eyes came to the one mercenary-looking man in the room. He was standing aside from others, with his arms crossed over his chest. The big thick-armed man was waiting, staring off into space. He looked bigger than any of the men Francis used to work with, standing high and carrying more muscle than any man he had ever met.

“Alright! We can get started!” one of the men called out.

“Places everybody!” another called.

“Camera is ready,” the cameraman called out.

“Sound is online,” the soundman gave a thumbs up.

“Let’s get started,” the first man said, “Mr. McKragen?”

Francis followed the man’s direction as he was summoned. The man speaking to him directed him towards the big man in the room. He was silent as the man introduced the big man, but he cursedly did not catch the man’s name.

“We’ll start with the first act,” the man handed each of them papers, “Your scripts. Please take a moment to rehearse.”

“I’ve got it,” Francis nodded, feeling less than confident. He began frantically trying to memorize lines for the first scene.

“Alright, let’s get started!” the man walked over behind the camera.

The big man before him nudged his arm. He flinched, feeling a little startled by the mere size of the other man. He had not considered the kind of partners he might be working with. Of course, he had told them that his preference was male partners, yet he had not mentioned that this would be his first occasion with a man.

His body was flushed red with embarrassment. It moved, but he was not truly aware of what was going. Yet at the same time, he was all too aware of what he was doing. He walked along with the giant man, following the instructions of the man who may be a director.

The big man helped direct him a little bit. He followed his lead as they stepped onto the little set in the motel. His cue came and his line came from his mouth, but it was hardly anything fluently smooth.

The big man guided him towards the bed and he found himself on his back. He was not expecting lips upon his face. His face was hot as he tried to respond. None of this felt normal or natural. It just felt weird and awkward.

“Cut!” a man called out, “Try it again. Mr. McKragen, give us a bit of energy.”

“Y-yea,” he called back hesitantly.

“Alright back up a bit and try that scene again,” the man called.

The giant man helped lift Francis off the bed, putting him on his feet. He shifted his feet and looked up at the big man. He was looking over at the cameraman and director curiously.

“Let’s try it one more time. Alright?” the director requested.

The big man nodded, then turned back to Francis. They looked at each other for a minute of silence. Finally, the director called for them to start.

The line slipped from Francis’ lips again. Their eyes met and he was again on his back. Once again, their faces were smashed together. This time, he at least expected that much of the activity.

His skin tingled with a sensation of uncertainty. Giant hands roamed down his side and then over his chest. The big thumbs flicked off the hooks of his overalls.

He did not know what to do with his hands. Where should he put them? What should he do? He reached up blindly, his hands landing on large muscular shoulders. A tremor of terror ran down his body.

Their lips parted and he caught the man’s soft whisper, “Relax. Heavy will take care of you.”

Francis swallowed the fear in his throat as the hands began guiding his overalls down his front. Fingers immediately hooked on the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. The hands turned to run flat palms along his belly. The sensation was so unfamiliar and terrifying, yet somehow welcoming.

His shirt came up to his armpits. He finally had a chance to look down and see how his front was bared for the camera. The big man took a hold of his overalls as the camera inched closer.

Francis held his breath as the big man pulled his overalls down to his ankles in one swoop. They were stuck at his lace up boots. It was somehow worse that they were caught around his ankles, leaving him with clothes on that were not covering him. His skin was turning pink as it was bared to the men in the room.

“Cut!” the director called.

Francis felt a tremor as he closed his eyes. For a moment he felt like a God-fearing man again, thinking prayers of thanks for his goggles covering the fear in his irises. He prayed that this would soon be over. He prayed that whatever happened next would not make a fool of him.

“Somebody help him with those boots,” the director gestured to somebody. A woman ran over and grabbed Francis’ boots, quickly unlacing them. Somebody came after to grab the other boot, helping her to hurriedly get it off. “Thank you! Out of the camera, please!” the director called to them.

The two hurriedly pulled off his socks and rushed out of view of the camera, while the cameraman adjusted the angle. The director shook his head as they moved closer to the bed. It only made Francis’ skin burn with embarrassment, feeling ashamed and vulnerable.

“Looks like we need a bit of stimulation,” the director said, with a general gesture towards Francis.

“Hmm? What? Uh…no…” Francis stammered, hoping nobody would touch him again. His toes were already curled from the cold touching them.

“Will do this,” Heavy suggested, “Camera on? Or off?”

“Turn the camera on him,” the director instructed.

The camera rotated, moving in a way that seemed to pan down Francis’ body. He felt even hotter than he was before. He was not sure that he could grow any hotter without being literally on fire.

He was immediately proven wrong as a hand cupped the underneath of his underwear. He gasped with surprise, looking down as the big man’s hand began playing with his tender flesh through the cotton. His eyes were drawn up to the man leaning over him, who was looking over him with soft eyes.

Francis tried not to make a sound, but he could not stop his heavy breathing. His skin was trembling and everything below was feeling tingly and warm, until he was throbbing. He held his tongue as the terrified desire to tell the big man to stop got caught in his mouth.

“Is good, da?” the big man asked him, his fingers beginning to tease his flesh more.

He was huffing and praying not to get any hotter. Despite his degrees in chemical science, he had a growing fear of lighting on fire. A human being could not combust without something to cause the combustion, yet his brain was losing its sense of rationality. He desperately wanted to cool down.

“The shirt! The shirt!” somebody whispered.

The giant man moved his hands to the shirt, pulling the shirt off over Francis’ head. He stared up at the man, feeling more vulnerable now that he was shirtless. It only became more embarrassing as a palm ran over his chest, moving down to tease down the hem of his underwear.

He held his breath, watching as the hem moved down his thigh, revealing more and more of the pink flesh it was hiding. He felt like he was gagged when his erection popped up out and into view.

His heel rubbed against his ankle as he felt the underwear draw down his calves. The big man said nothing, helping ease the last piece of clothing off. Bare and vulnerable, the terror truly set in and the panic forced Francis to breathe heavy fast breaths.

“Reel him in!” the director whispered.

Big hands took him by the thighs and slid him down. He held his tongue, watching the Heavy Weapons Guy towering over him. The man pulled his shirt over his head, seemingly making Francis watch as he did it. His thick body had a soft look to it, yet it was hardened with muscle underneath.

The Heavy shifted his knee, hands going to his belt. He seemed to be watching Francis, while Francis was watching him. As dirty and unholy as this seemed, he could not bring himself to look away. He could not help but stare, watching as the man removed his belt, undid his pants and pulled down the front to reveal a bulge.

Francis was not sure whether it made him worse than the camera that he was staring, watching that bulge as the man pulled the hem of his underwear down. Curled dark hair and pink flesh popped out. The man was well endowed, reminding Francis of a mule’s pride.

The Heavy stroked his own length while it throbbed and twitched. He was staring down at him, watching him as he watched. There was silence for a moment, as he shifted on his knees, moving where he was positioned. His free hand took Francis’ leg, hooking under his knees. Francis could not help gasping as his leg was raised, bringing it around the big man’s waist and resting his knee against his hip.

Francis watched with widened eyes as that giant throbbing manhood purposefully rubbed against his inner thigh. The sheer size of it was suddenly terrifying. Still, he could not look away, staring in awe at how the man was sizable in every dimention.

“You want this?” the big man’s voice was different. It was not soft and sweet as it had been in his whisper. This time it was a coo, with a growl that seemed rather sensual, as it teased his ears.

“Uhh…” Francis could not think of what he was supposed to do or say next. What was his line? What was he to do?

“Say yes!” the director hissed.

Francis shook himself and swallowed fear, “Yes.”

“I want it!” the director hissed again.

“I want it,” Francis repeated.

“Give it to me! Give it to me hard!”

“Give it to me,” Francis hesitated as he mulled over the words coming from his mouth, “Give it to me hard.”

The Heavy nodded, his lips quirking into a smirk. He pulled on his leg, scooting his entire body closer. Suddenly, his backside was lifted off of the bed and throbbing flesh was pressing against the twitching member that was now flopped against his belly.

A hand cupped under his buttcheeks. He held his breath as the other hand positioned the giant dick near him. His body felt hotter as it pressed against his cheeks, pushing between them. Big fingers parted his cheeks as the massive flesh pressed against his orifice.

“Oh God!” the words escaped his lips in a breath.

“Will be gentle with little Engineer,” the Heavy cooed.

He gasped as the massive appendage pushed into him. His body tensed as he felt the big man pause. He pulled back to push in again.

Heavy lowered his head to whisper softly, “Relax. Engineer is tense.”

“Yea I know,” Francis hissed.

He bit his lip as it dug deeper. It filled him so much that he could not believe it. Amazement escaped him as a hot sensation floated through him. He was not sure what it was, but it was as if something had been touched in there. Something his cock was rubbing against suddenly sent him into a mental state of ecstasy.

The member pulled out of him. He let out a breath, relief flooding his body. The pressure was gone and it felt good.

The Heavy moved his legs up, then flipped him over. He flopped onto his front, huffing tiredly. He was not sure what he could do otherwise.

“Cut!” the director called.

The Heavy froze in what he was doing. Francis did not move. He kept his eyes shut, trying to focus on catching his breath.

“Try that again,” the director said, “Mr. McKragen, give us some more action.”

“I…” he huffed tiredly.

“Don’t fall on your face next time,” the director insisted.

“I…okay,” Francis forced out the words tiredly.

“Da, is good,” the Heavy helped turn him back onto his back. He took his knee and put it against his hip again.

“Alright, let’s try again,” the director said, “Cameras are rolling. Action!”

The Heavy paused only momentarily, before turning his hips over again. This time, Francis tensed his core, keeping his torso relatively straight. He caught himself with his arms so that he landed on his elbows.

Heavy took a hold of his hips. His palms pulled his butt cheeks apart. He turned his head to see that a camera was moving closer to his backside. His face burned and he turned his face away.

He was quiet as he felt a big thumb feel the hole previously being impaled through. He bit his lip, closing his eyes again. He dared not look as the head of the man’s dick pressed against him.

A big head took a hold of the back of his scalp. He tensed, as the man pushed him down into the pillow. There was no warning as the large dick filled him again.

He left his mouth hanging open as he panted. He tried to keep his face at an angle where he could get plenty of air. His body simply trembled under the massive pressure, as the man began rocking his hips into him.

“I like this Engineer,” the Heavy growled.

Francis tried to think of something else. He tried to think of being elsewhere. Anywhere else would be better than this right now. His mind just needed to not be here right now.

He was not sure how long this lasted. He was not sure if he could go past it. His body clenched and his belly unleashed everything inside of himself. He was vaguely aware of the warm cum that sprayed his belly.

He took deep careful breaths. Unfortunately, the man in him was not finished. He was still thrusting into his body, pounding him ruthlessly. The stress of the stimulation made his heart pound hard. Tears filled his eyes and dripped into his goggles.

The man suddenly pulled out of him. Francis let out a huff at the relief of pressure being removed. He panted heavily, slipping an arm to his forehead so that he could rest with his nose and mouth better unobscured. The sensation of something being sprayed on his back made him shudder. He was not sure what he expected, but he had not expected warm ooze to be sprayed onto his back.

It was done. They had finished. The crew was excited for that session to be over. They had finished and just had to clean up and wrap up everything they were using.

“Is done,” Heavy said as he rolled to the side. He seemed to be finally huffing, though Francis did not remember the man breathing heavily before. “Little Engineer is okay?” Heavy asked.

“Y…yea,” he forced the word out of his throat, because it did not want to come on its own.

“Was good,” the big man commented, “Work is good. Good work.”

The Heavy rolled off the bed and got to his feet. Francis watched his bare ass as he walked away to get dressed. He barely seemed bothered by the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin from all that work. He was certainly unperturbed by how heavily he was breathing from how tired he had gotten.

“Time to get up and get dressed, Mr. McKragen,” a man walked over.

“I’m…I’m getting up,” he slowly pushed himself up. It hurt to move.

“We have to clean this room, so please be out soon,” the man informed him, before leaving him alone.

“I’m getting to it,” Francis muttered, forcing himself to get up.


	6. Brunch and Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooley and Frank get to hang out for a bit. Their time is cut off by a visit from Maxwell.

Dooley stepped out of the room with a mug of coffee in hand. He took a sip as he stepped out towards the truck. Nearby he noticed a curtain falling closed from some other mercenary peeking out.

He huffed a sigh as he sipped his coffee again. He looked up in time to see a figure come out of the one room rented out to a studio. He swallowed hard as he realized that it was Frank. He quickly looked away, not wanting to make anything feel awkward after the man came out of _work_.

He minded his own business, keeping his attention on his coffee. He told himself that he saw nothing. He did not need to say anything. He did not have to bother Frank in any way. It was none of his business and he would not make Frank feel awkward about anything.

“Oh, hey there, Dex!” the Texan accent caught him off guard. He looked up to see Frank walking towards him, the bottom edge of his jacket pulled up over his hands tucked into his pant pockets. “How are you doing today?” Frank asked him.

Dooley hesitated, feeling his cheeks grow rosy. He looked down at his coffee as he felt his lips stretch into a small smile. He looked back up at Frank, who was finally standing in front of him.

“I’m alright,” he replied, smiling at Frank.

“You work today?” Frank asked.

“Oh…uh…” Dooley’s eyes went to the door with the wires coming out. He gave Frank an awkward smile, as he tried to pretend he did not just look at the door that Frank had just come out of. “No, I don’t have any work today.”

Frank smiled, “Want to…go grab a bite to eat?”

“Oh…uh…with you?” Dooley felt a flutter in his heart over the invitation.

“Sure,” Frank shrugged, “Think I’d like some company with me. I haven’t ate breakfast. I’m famished. How about you?”

Dooley nodded, “I could eat.”

Frank chuckled, “Good to hear! My truck or yours? I’m parked just across the street.”

Dooley hesitated, thinking about the keys he left inside. Maxwell did not usually use the truck, but maybe he might need it. Dooley shrugged and raised his cup, “Let me ditch the mug and we’ll go in your vehicle.”

“Alright,” Frank nodded.

Dooley headed into the motel room to put his mug away. He dumped the coffee before rinsing it out. He set it aside, before checking the mirror nearby. He straightened out his clothes, then headed out the door.

He met with Frank, who fell right into step with him. They walked together, strolling across the street to the vehicle. Dooley happily climbed into the passenger seat of the truck.

“I seen a diner on my way here,” Frank said, “I think they have pancakes and eggs and such.”

“Sounds delicious,” Dooley replied, trying to seem eager. He did not want to seem too eager though.

When they pulled into the diner, they climbed out and walked in silence together. Dooley was not sure what to do with himself though. It seemed like they were walking too close together. He tried to mind himself, paying close attention to how they walked together.

They stepped into the restaurant side by side. They were too close in step and Dooley had to stumble, so that Frank would not get uncomfortable. He tried to stay aside, so that there was enough space between them. Then it was a little too much space and he needed to move closer to stay with him.

“Table for two?” the waitress asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Frank nodded.

“Right this way,” she took two menus out and showed them to a table.

Dooley sat across from him carefully. He accepted a menu and asked for a water. He looked over the menu, trying to pretend not to have Frank in his peripheral vision.

“Mmm…what looks good?” Frank asked.

“I uh…think the berry Belgian waffles look delicious,” Dooley suggested, quickly scanning the breakfast menu.

“Hmm…steak sounds good,” Frank flipped the page, “Think they serve the lunch menu yet?”

“It’s a quarter ‘til noon,” Dooley offered.

“Oh!” Frank looked over at the clock on the wall, “Right. Forgot the time.”

“Think they’ll serve the lunch menu right about now,” Dooley offered, turning his own menu.

“Think I’ll get a steak,” Frank said, “I’m famished.”

 

 

Dooley must have spent an hour listening to Frank. The man put down a steak meal, then a whole appetizer dish. He did not mind the talking or the eating, because he was fully enjoying himself.

He did not know the last time he just enjoyed somebody’s company this much. Actually, he was pretty sure it was the last time he hung out with the Soldier. He tried to put that back in a crevice of his mind, not wanting to dredge up the memories.

He turned his mind back to listening to Frank talk about what was going on in his life. Apparently he had just broken off a relationship with a man who was apparently nothing more than a friend. He was a good friend by the sound of it. Dooley could relate to this, aside from the part of having actually kissed him.

“You don’t think I was too hard on him, do you?” Frank asked, twiddling his fork on his empty plate.

“Nah,” Dooley shifted in his seat to get more comfortable, “I mean it’s…understandable to take your time and figure out where you are at before jumping too far in a relationship. By no means should he have waited _seventeen_ years to do anything.”

Frank clicked his tongue and threw his upper body back against the chair, “Maybe I should have said something. I should have brought it up sooner.”

“Don’t start blaming yourself for it,” Dooley insisted, “Let the past be in the past. It’s not something you can change. Regret is for those of us unfortunate enough to get caught and thrown in prison. You want to move forward from all of this, don’t ya?”

Frank sighed, looking forlorn at the fork on his plate, “Yea well…I guess I _have_ started to move forward.”

“Yea? Well, that’s a good start,” Dooley smiled, hoping to cheer him on.

“Had a…” Frank cleared his throat awkwardly, “Had my first job today.”

“R-right,” Dooley looked down at his unfinished salad. He had been trying to diet, ever since Max had drilled him about heart palpitations and their connection to heart disease. “I had noticed you coming out when I was having coffee. I just didn’t want to bother you about it,” he kept his eyes down, lest he upset Frank by saying this.

“It’s fine,” Frank waved off the explanation, “It’s just a job, right?”

“I suppose so,” Dooley looked up at the other man to see a smile. He smiled back at him.

“Besides…we’re beyond adults by now,” Frank chuckled, “We’re beyond this stuff being awkward by now. Aren’t we?”

“I suppose so,” Dooley shrugged. He looked away again, too embarrassed to admit that it had been decades since he last laid with a man.

“Enough chat about that anyways,” Frank pushed his plate away, “You ready to head out?”

“Sure,” Dooley nodded in agreement. Dooley huffed as he too pushed his plate away, “Let’s pay for brunch and get going.”

“Waitress!” Frank waved a couple of fingers to summon the waitress.

“Yes sir?” she paused at their table, “Anything I can get for you gentlemen?”

“The bill please?” Frank requested.

“Give me just two minutes and I’ll bring it over for you,” she gave them a pleasant smile.

“Uh…I just realized something,” Dooley called Frank’s attention, “How’re we splitting the bill?”

“I was going to say split it in half,” Frank hesitated, scratching his neck, “But I think I ate more than you did. Um…we could itemize the receipt?”

“I suppose that’s a good enough idea,” Dooley nodded.

 

 

They were about to load up into the truck, when a familiar truck pulled into the parking lot. Dooley was surprised, but waited patiently as it pulled in a parking space away from them. Max scrambled out of the cab and came around the truck hurriedly.

“This is where you have been?” Max sounded rather frantic as he spoke.

Dooley hesitated, feeling both embarrassed and confused. He looked to Frank, worried about what he might think this was. Surely he did not think bad of him because of this. He turned back to Max, concerned about why the man was so flustered.

“I…I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Do you know how difficult it is to find a man your size in an unfamiliar town?” Max asked, a touch of scorn in his voice.

“I’m not sure what you thought might have happened, but I assure you that I’m fine,” Dooley insisted, “Besides, I left you the truck. I figured you would be thankful for that.”

“Well, when I found the keys, I thought you might have…well…” Max’s voice trailed off while his hand made gestures that made no sense.

“Might have what?” Dooley asked, confusedly.

“What is it?” Frank pressed, hoping to get the explanation out of Maxwell.

“Well you know,” Max hesitated, “There are a lot of unsavory men here. Just because they are all working the same job doesn’t mean they aren’t…you know. Add onto that the nature of our job…well…”

“We used to work with _killers_ ,” Dooley pointed out, “I survived just fine with them. You didn’t worry before.”

“Yes, well that was either because you were on respawn, or they _knew_ you,” Maxwell answered.

Dooley took a deep breath and sighed. So much for all of that. They had had a pleasant brunch, and now Maxwell brought his panic to them.

“There was no need to fret about me,” Dooley insisted.

“He was with me,” Frank put in.

“Right,” Dooley nodded to Frank, before turning back to Max, “You haven’t any reason to worry. You know that.”

“Well yes, sure, I’ve found you now,” Maxwell rolled his eyes, “Now come on. We need to go.”

“Go?” Dooley hesitated, looking from Maxwell to their truck. He glanced back over to Frank and his truck, with want. He was enjoying the other Engineer’s attention so much. “Where do we need to go?” he asked, with an awkward chuckle. He was hoping that Max might get frustrated and just leave. He could always apologize later.

“We just need to go,” Max gestured to their truck.

“Go where?” Dooley pressed.

“You know, if you two have somewhere to be, I’ll be out of your hair,” Frank offered, headed to his driver side door, “I got to be going anyhow. It was nice talking to you, Dooley.”

“It was nice talking to you too, Frank,” Dooley paused, watching as Frank started up his truck and drove away.

He was quiet as he turned and strolled to the truck. He opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. He still said nothing as he closed the door and buckled his seatbelt. His eyes raised to see Max walk around the front of the truck to get into the driver’s side.  
The Medic got in swiftly. He put the key in the ignition to start the truck with one hand, while the other buckled his seatbelt. Dooley watched him in silence, a little unnerved by how quickly he was doing things. He almost seemed agitated at Dooley. The thought of Maxwell getting mad at him for enjoying an outing with a new friend made his blood start to boil.

“The hell is your problem?” Dooley raised his voice to show that he was angry.

Maxwell hesitated as he put the stick shift in reverse. He looked at Dooley with just his eyes as he spoke, “That was a date, wasn’t it?”

“No!” Dooley spat. He could feel his cheeks burning already though.

“You were on a date with him and I interrupted it,” Max replied to that, putting the truck into a different gear.

“It wasn’t a date,” Dooley lowered his voice in shame.

“What was it then?” Maxwell asked.

Dooley did not know how to answer that right away. It was hard to say what it was without thinking about it. It was two fellas getting brunch. It was two men hanging out at a diner alone. It was two men who needed food and decided to go together, but without any others.

“You wanted it to be a date?” Maxwell proceeded when Dooley said nothing.

“No, I just…we were just hanging out. That’s all,” Dooley assured him. He started to notice that Max was blushing. “There were not…feelings or anything. Just two men…two _friends_ hanging out and getting food.”

“Sounds like a date,” Max said pensively.

“Well don’t worry, it wasn’t,” Dooley grumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Max said, before he pulled out of the parking lot.

They were silent for a long while. It was just the rumble of the engine for a long time. Neither of them seemed ready to speak.

Dooley decided to break down the tension, “I’m sorry for yelling. I was having a good time. I thought I’d be spending more with him. It’s been a while since I had more friends.”

“Sorry I’m not enough,” Maxwell quipped.

“No that’s not- Look boy, this ain’t about enough or nothing. Me and you are different,” Dooley explained.

“You need a friend with more in common?” Maxwell did not look at him, paying attention to driving.

“Yes. No!” Dooley quickly corrected himself, “That ain’t it.”

“Then what is it? A riddle?” Max rolled his eyes.

“Look, you and I are different. You’re the kind of man who only keeps friends that kind of…force their way into your life.”

“Boris never forced his way into my life!” Maxwell proclaimed.

Dooley fell silent, though the word “oh” was stuck on his tongue. Maxwell only ever brought up his deceased lover when he was thinking about him a lot. It was only when he was feeling troubled. And usually around that time was when Dooley needed to help ease him through some mental tension.

The drive was slow and quiet. Slow because of Maxwell’s careful driving. It was silent because neither of them wanted to speak after what was brought up.

They pulled into the motel parking lot and Maxwell shut off the engine. They sat there for a long minute, each of them apparently contemplating something. Dooley’s thoughts lingered on shame.

“That’s why you came looking for me, isn’t it?” he asked softly.

Maxwell did not speak or nod. His eyes just shifted down. It was the kind of gesture that gave away his thoughts, affirming Dooley’s assumption.

Dooley nodded, “I’m sorry.”

He felt he had let his friend down. He had been so wound up in what he was doing that he had given it no thought. Of course Maxwell would not bring it up in front of Frank. He would want Frank to know nothing of what he was dealing with. That was the kind of man that he was right now.

Once upon a time, Boris was everything. Boris was the only important thing that Max could talk about outside of work. When work dried up, it was just Boris. Eventually, when he got Maxwell to think of him less, Boris became a symbol. He was a piece of memory that meant everything to Maxwell, and that killed him on the inside.

“No, it’s nothing,” Maxwell tried to assure him, with a gesture of his hand.

“I should have been thinking more,” Dooley insisted, “I didn’t have to yell. I’m sorry about that. I guess I uh…I let what I wanted get the best of me.”

“Ja…” was all the Medic said.

“Let’s go inside,” Dooley unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door, “It’s time to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max has been through some shit. For loyal reader's reference, Boris was a background character in Allies in Love and Her Name. He died during the fire fight in the city (2005), while protecting his beloved Medic.


	7. An Odd Day's Work

Francis found himself driving out to the auction house again. He had parked there the night before to sleep in his truck. The motel had no more rooms left, so a lot of other mercenaries had the same idea. He was one of the few who had not brought a camper truck.

He did not mind though. He just threw a couple of sleeping bags together, with extra down blankets to keep warm. Sleeping under the stars was nothing new to him, and it was kind of nice.

The night before, he had regretted being alone. There were mercenaries in every truck parked out here, yet he felt so alone. The only one he knew was Zachary, but they were currently not speaking to each other.

Besides, after today’s experience, he was glad to be alone. He was not sure he could ever get used to an experience like that. He certainly did not want to do it like that again. Hell, he wondered if the big man he had been working with had caught on and was being gentle with him on his first time. Whatever the case, he was not fond of the idea of sex anymore, and would rather forget about this whole ordeal.

How could he forget it though? He had signed a contract for this job. He was tied to all of this. All that was left was to be glad that the Scouts and BLU Sniper did not have to deal with this, all while feeling sorry that he had ever hinted for the RED Sniper to be a part of this.

 

 

He had a week before his next job. A week was enough to heal from the pain of before, but not enough to forget. He certainly was not ready to jump into it again.

He was surprised when he arrived to find the room full of people. His hand was taken by one of the staff members and he was led to the area where there used to be a bed. He looked around and tried to count the people who were not in the black staff polo shirts. There were more women than he expected, with a total of two mercenaries aside from himself.

“Alright! Everyone, here are the scripts!” a bundle of papers got smacked into each man’s hand.

Francis got right to work on reading his. He wanted to be sure that he knew what he was doing this time around. He had a lot of lines this time. He even had an entrance, where he busted open a door.

“Mr. McKragen, for your entrance, you’ll need your shirt off,” a man instructed.

“My shirt off? Why my shirt off? Why not strip it later?” he asked.

“Director wants the shirtless appeal with the overall straps. Let’s get your shirt off,” the man insisted.

The man did not even wait for an invitation, unsnapping his overalls to pull his shirt over his head. He blushed as his chest and belly became bare. The man went on to snap the straps back in place, which just felt awkward.

“Alright, you’re going to start from outside,” the man explained to him.

“I’m gonna have to stand outside in the shivering cold with no shirt on?” he scoffed. It was not too cold, but his body had gotten used to a desert heat, making this cool weather feel like ice against his skin.

“Right,” the man turned and raised his voice, “Somebody get me a blanket for Mr. McKragen!”

“Don’t worry about it,” another man stepped up, “We’re going to rehearse before we start that. We’ll record the entrance last. We’ll fix it in post.”

“As long as I don’t gotta be outside with no shirt, I’m fine,” Francis replied.

They spent hours rehearsing lines and moves. For a porn, these moves felt weird and out of place. They were just…doing things. Like attacking each other. The lines were cheesy as hell though, so he was sure they were typical for a porno.

During break, the director came to him and tapped his bare shoulder, “Oh…Mr. Director.”

“Mr. McKragen? May I have a moment?” the director requested.

“Sure,” Francis turned as the man sat beside him.

“I want to extend a hand of the utmost sensitivity,” the man explained.

“What?” Francis was not sure what to make of his words.

“I don’t usually hire on gay men for a part of a straight man,” the director went on slowly.

“Oh…” Francis raised his eyebrows at that explanation.

Before Zachary, and before Mann Co, he remembered the old days when he was young and men were taught that they were supposed to be a certain way. That was the way of things. You had to be this way or you were not a man.

Part of that had been what he considered to be his experimental phase. One part he realized meant that he had shown no love to those girls in high school and college. One part meant that he could still handle doing stuff with the women in this porno.

“You don’t have to worry about that none,” he assured the director with a smile, “I’ve got experience. I can handle this.”

“Great!” the director’s eyes lit up, “That’s a relief! It was hard having the guys find somebody for the part. Eisenhower showed me the clip of you in the show, and you just have…the perfect look!”

“Shucks, thanks mister,” he felt a little bashful at that. It was not every day that one got handpicked for a job. Of course, the last time had been more meaningful. That was when Miss Pauling had picked him out to be a killer mercenary working for Reliable Excavation and Demolition.

“You are the perfect kind of guy we needed,” the director went on to praise him, “You’ve got the perfect look! I think if we could…we’d go with more hair…”

Francis chuckled at that, “It’s easier to keep under a helmet if one shaves.”

“Well, looks better than a partial hair piece,” the director said, staring at his helmet where his hair would be.

“Alright, now you’re just bullying,” Francis insisted.

The director chuckled, “Sorry. I am a bit of a perfectionist. Trying to use you guys instead of professional porn stars? It’s a bit…difficult to find the pieces I need for my movie.”

“Movie?” Francis inquired, “What movie?”

“We’re shooting a movie,” the man explained, “It’ll take up a lot of your time, but if you’re willing to stick with it, I want you to be my star.”

“Your star?” he quirked an eyebrow at that.

The director tapped Francis’ copy of the script, “The Engineer!”

“Oh…” Francis looked down at his script curiously, “What about Dexter Dooley?”

“What about who?” the director asked.

“Dexter Dooley? Or any other Engineer?” he inquired.

The director laughed, “Every other Engineer we profiled is either too gay or too soft for the part.”

“Too gay or too soft?” Francis repeated with disbelief, “The hell is that supposed to mean.”

“Oh nothing offensive!” the man insisted, “It’s not meant to be offense. It’s just that…some gays are just…too gay. The others were just…pudgy and soft. You know? A lot of round men. A lot of…older men.”

“Yea? Well that’s a lot of what you’ll find in this demographic,” Francis told him sternly.

“You’re right on the line though,” the director added.

“On the line?” Francis quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re gay, but you don’t look _too_ gay,” he explained, “Although, to be honest, you don’t look gay at all. You strike me as a…um…I’ll just shut up about that now. Otherwise, you look the part. You got a great body and you don’t look _too_ old for viewers.”

“That’s the criteria for _on the line_?” Francis asked, just a bit peeved by this.

Somebody called the director’s attention and he stood up. He seemed to forget that Francis McKragen even existed there. He just hurried off to deal with the next thing on his mind.

Francis got up from his seat to join the other actors. He was quiet, watching and listening to the others. He wanted to get a better understanding of what this job was.

“If you look at this script, it’s really just a campy superhero porn. Only all of the superheroes and villains are replaced with Engineers,” one woman pointed out.

Francis opened the script again and started looking it over. He had not been into reading stories in decades. Probably since college, when he had to start reading more research than fiction.

“Hey! Engineer!” one of the ladies caught his attention. He looked up to see two blondees and a brunette were looking him over. “Can you _really_ make robots?” a blonde asked.

“Don’t be so insensitive! That’s a roboticist,” the other blonde corrected her.

“I’m pretty sure there is no such thing as roboticist,” the brunette replied.

“Stop correcting me, Gloria!” the second blonde scoffed at the brunette.

“Actually, I have ten PHDs,” he chuckled, “One was focused on robotics.”

“So you _can_ build a robot?” the first blonde asked with lit up eyes.

“Sure. I used to build lots of little gadgets and buildings,” he explained.

“No no, like robots,” the second blonde corrected him, “You know? Beep boop. Walk on two legs. Bring you an iced drink.”

“There’s many kinds of robots,” he told them, “Mine tended to focus on…well…let’s say it always got a little more gun.”

“What’s that mean?” the first blonde asked, shaking her head in confusion.

The second blonde scoffed, “It means he’s horny and wants to fuck already!”

“No, that’s not-” Francis tried to interject, but they ignored him.

“Well, duh! All of us in here and all this action going on? I’m about ready to go hide in the closet with that prop dildo,” the brunette told her friends.

“You’re such a whore,” the first blonde told the brunette.

“You’re a whore too,” the second blonde told the first blonde.

“Well you know what? You’re a whore too!” the first blond said angrily to the second blond.

At this point, Francis was just lost for words. He was not sure what to say to these women. They were impossible to follow in regards to intellectual conversation, and they did not seem to understand the slightest of what was going on.

He moved away from those women, wanting to get some space. He was a little close to the door, where a lot of cold air was coming in, but that was fine. He just needed someplace to stand away from the others, where he could look over the script some more.

He put it down when he was called over. They were sorted into groups to work through one of the scenes. He followed his lines, but became only more concerned with the _moves_ that required him to knock a girl out.

“Hey excuse me,” he walked over to the director, “I’ve got a um…a problem with this here script.”

“What’s that, Mr. McKragen?” the director asked.

“This part here,” he explained, “I’m supposed to knock this girl out. She falls on the floor. And then what?”

“Nothing,” the man insisted, “You just knock her down. You’re fighting.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a porno. In the next scene, I’m supposed to be…” Francis paused to look at the script again, “Riding her backside? The hell does that mean?”

“It means there are different events going on at different times of the movie,” the director said dismissively. He would not even hear him out anymore, he just walked away again.

“So much for that,” he muttered to himself.

“Let’s get the cameras rolling!” the director announced.

Francis followed the others, getting out of the line of the camera’s sight. He watched as other actors were put into position. One of the other mercenaries joined them, as they started up some sort of fight. It was mostly full of slapping and grappling as the lot of them struggled for the upper hand.

He shook his head as he watched. Fake wrestlers could do a better job of faking a fight than this. All the while, the one mercenary in the shot, a Sniper who kept second guessing himself, kept trying not to land any hits. It was not as if he was supposed to actually hurt anybody, but his facial expression held fear of harming them, rather than a need to put strength behind the swing. These women were impossible to work with like this.

“Alright, Heavy’s turn,” the director announced. The Sniper went to sit down, looking as upset as a man who had just watched his dog get hit by a vehicle.

Francis turned his attention to the scene again. This time it was not so much swinging to hit. The Heavy was a big man, towering over his coworkers. His mere mass could have crushed and killed two of those little porn stars. The entire scene was more a game of cat and mouse, while he struggled to catch them, and they used their size and speed to avoid his hands.

The scene came to its climax as they tore his pants down and knocked him onto the bed. A black-haired lady, who was portrayed as the leader of the bunch gave a loud line commanding them to _restrain_ the Heavy. Their idea of restraining him was removing the tiny bikinis they were wearing and mounting his cock like a big toy.

That was the longest part of the scene. It was five girls, with one riding on his cock, and the others teasing him with a show. They rubbed against him, while he watched with a stupor in his eyes.

 

 

When the scene had ended, Francis was dozing off. Somebody gave him a nudge and he stumbled forward. He looked around, stumped at who might have woken him.

“Alright, let’s get the fight scene with McKragen,” the director announced to the staff.

He took a breath and stepped forward. He followed a guide to the spot he was supposed to start at. He thought over his lines and tried to remember what moves he was supposed to make for this.

“Watch and learn boys,” was his line, before he started swinging. At first the girls avoided, then they pretended to be hit and get thrown around. One girl landed on the ground and just laid there, her face in the floor.

Suddenly, the power went out. It was still light in the room, but it was clear that the lights that they were using were suddenly all off.

“Cut! Everybody take five for an electrical malfunction!” the director shouted in frustration.

Relieved of his duties, Francis rushed out of the room. He immediately regretted it, seeing as his chest was bare. The cool air was biting against his skin. He felt his hair stand on end in a prickly sensation.

He made his way to the truck to phish out another shirt. He could at least have a break outside and away from the cameras. At least the cameras were not functioning at the moment. He was just about through with being around cameras, especially while he was so bare.


	8. Day to Day is Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper's life working this job is miserable.

It had been a long time. Nightmares surfaced and the torture of old memories were creeping up on Zachary. It used to be that he could just sit down next to Francis, listen to him talk and forget all of that.

He could not do that anymore. Now he had to face whatever was there in front of him. Worse, he had to deal with the fact that it was _naked_ in front of him.

A squat Soldier and a slender Spy stood before him, both of them naked. One of them was slathered in honey, the other had chest hair in the shape of New Zealand. If he even had half as much chest hair as one of them, he figured he might feel a little more confident in what he was doing.

“This one’s a close up,” the director announced, “Make up?”

Without a word, two women rushed over to smother and powder his face. He had no idea why he would need it. Make up was for women.

“Alright! We’re ready!” the director shouted.

The women rushed away, leaving him to itch at his powdered nose. Yes, this seemed appropriate. Put him on his knees with makeup on. Why not whore him up with a dress too?

He looked at the two men before him. They were talking in soft tones to each other, apparently unperturbed by their line of work. It must have been the length of time in which they had done this.

“Who brought the cuffs?” the director asked.

Without a word, a man brought forward what was asked of him. They were metallic plastic cuffs, with pink fluff along the edges. They clipped to his wrists and tightened down.

The man left him and he looked at the two mercenaries before him. Dread and disgust bubbled up from the depths of his gut. He stared listlessly as the scene began. He did not even hear the director. He must have just zoned out, because suddenly, both men were approaching him, caressing his face, and demanding oral stimulation.

He did as he was supposed to. He did as he was told. He pretended not to care. This was fine.

It did not even last very long. Both men came so quickly that the Sniper’s face was suddenly a mess of cum. Ah yes, this was the best way to degrade somebody. He had forgotten about this.

“That’s a wrap,” the director announced.

Huh, Zachary thought. This barely lasted five minutes. He glanced up at a clock to double check his count. True to its word, it had only been five minutes since they had started.

Already, he could hear the director grumbling about unprofessional actors and having a hard time padding out the porn. At least, it seemed he had enough actors to filter through them.

One of the other actors was Francis. Zachary was sure he had not yet bailed on the job. He was not the kind of person to just quit right out of the gate.

He did not know if the man was keen to this kind of stuff though. He did not seem all too perturbed by it after initial shock of what it was, when they were talking to Miss Pauling. Perhaps it was for the best that he did not know, because he did not like to think that Francis was a deviant who liked all of this gross crap.

He got up off of his knees, brushed away the sawdust and marched off to the makeshift shower. It was just a bundle of hoses tied up on the fences once used for cattle, but the mercenaries had been using them to shower in. A quick wash was all he needed, since it was way too cold to enjoy it. Still, a cold shower let him forget the throbbing ache of how his body enjoyed the attention of two men with hard dicks.

He sighed as he let the cold water flow over his body. Just let the cold take hold of him, and let the sensations disappear. He did not even care if he got sick. It was cold out and he was making his body even colder, but he could not care right now, he just needed to numb himself to the last experience.

“Not much of a uh…submissive, are you?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

He glanced to the side to see the Soldier stripped down to nothing but his helmet. He stepped under the fresh flow of one of the other hoses as he spoke. He was already scrubbing himself, trying to get quickly in and out of the cold water.

“I’m not much of an anything,” Zachary mumbled.

“You don’t take this job too seriously, do you?” the Soldier asked.

“Why would you? Why should I? It’s a fool’s duty,” Zachary went on, absently scrubbing soap under his armpits.

“You should always take your job seriously!” the Soldier declared, “It doesn’t matter if you are shooting robots or getting shot in the face with cum! You should be proud in your work!”

“No thanks,” Zachary moaned.

This was a perfect example of why he did not care for this shit. This lifestyle and its ways were not for him. This was why. There were men like the Soldier, dominant and demanding. Then there were men like Zachary, those from whom the men like this Soldier take from.

“Fine,” the Soldier grumbled as he quickly rinsed the soap off himself, “If you’re going to be like that, then fine.”

“Good,” Zachary turned off his hose and grabbed his towel. He grabbed his dirty clothes and pulled on his boots. He trekked out to the parking lot with the towel and boots on. He did not care who saw him. Why should he care? Nobody else really did, other than to look at him with disbelief.

He climbed up into his camper and once the door was closed he threw the towel aside to dry. He put on some clean underwear and climbed up into his bed. He did not want to talk to anybody or see anybody. He just wanted to curl up on his bed and try to forget what he had just done and what he was going to have to do at his next commissioned job in a few days.

 

 

When he woke, it was late and his stomach was grumbling. With a low moan, he pulled himself out of bed and rubbed his eyes. He could go actually cook something. Or he could even go and get food from a diner in town.

He neither felt like putting on pants or going outside. So, he dug through the cupboards and pulled out a can of cream corn. Instead of preparing to cook, he opened up the can and pulled out a spoon to eat it with.

He plopped down at his table with his canned corn. He felt so numb when he filled his mouth with a spoonful of corn. He was not sure when he last ate. All he knew was that he did not try to eat before going to that job. He would remember that idea for next time too. It was always best not to eat before doing something that could nauseate him.

 

 

He slept most of the day. He was almost late for work. Only reason he even got out of bed was that his neighbor came knocking on his door like he had asked. There was no exchange between them today, simply knowing that the other had work to do.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on some pants. He figured he would return the favor tomorrow. While his neighbor was awake more often than himself, he was better at cooking than his neighbor. Not that he cared to step outside and cook much, but his neighbor appreciated it in return for a vigilant alarm.

He pulled a shirt over his head, then checked the mirror. His face was a little scruffy. That was okay, because apparently some people liked scruffy. At least he had been told that before. Surely, they would not mind a little scruff.

Although, they kept scripting him for submissive positions. They wanted him to be the twink, or the dame. They wanted him to be soft and smooth, like a woman might be.

With that thought, he sighed and got his razor out. No reason to go to work looking like a bum. If he was too scruffy for the job, it would only be an embarrassment for him and a reason for them to make his life more difficult.

After he cleaned up his face, he took a drink of water. He checked his chin in the mirror. He looked pretty good, with a smooth shave and a clean look. He did not look as young and nice as he did once upon a time, but it would do to keep him from looking gross and too old.

Studying his visage in the mirror, he got a better look at what the make up must have covered. Scars, most of them made by close combat cuts and fire fight shrapnel, sketched his face with white and even knots of skin that lacked the smoothness of his cheek.

He sighed as he moved away from the mirror. This was not stuff he could worry about right now. He was what he was, and that would just have to do for the cameras. Still, they had hired him on as their employee, he should at least do his best to clean up and look his finest.

“Sure,” he grumbled to himself as he grabbed his jacket, “Look your finest for a porno.”

He sighed as he stomped out of his camper and off to the driver side door. He would park here later, but for now he was off to his job at the motel in town. Some jobs were here at the auction house, others were over at the motel. He would head into town and after he did his job, he would go feed himself.

The drive to the motel was silent. It was somehow cold too. It was like the cold showers, minus the actual cold and the water flow.

Once he finally parked and climbed out of the truck, he felt a tingle. The numbness almost subsided, in favor of reminding him of life. He took a breath, holding it for a brief moment, as his eyes fell upon the familiar tailgate of the silver truck Francis drove. The Engineer was here at the motel.

He should be okay with it. He should not even be bothered about what the Engineer was doing. He already knew that he was off fucking people. He had taken the same job, after all.

Still, despite knowing all of this, Zachary was not okay. He was not alright with this. He was not going to be alright to just ignore this. He could not just pretend this was not happening.

What was worse was that he could not pretend not to care. He could not just say that he did not care about Francis. He could not pretend like they did not spend seventeen years together. He could not just act as though he did not finally have his love life coming together.

The man’s voice tickled his ear. He stopped in his tracks. Francis had just come from a room and was distracted, but he was heading towards his own truck.

Zachary thought quickly. There was no time to lose, so he jumped back into his truck. He slammed the door and laid down. It would be best not to be seen. He laid still and quiet. He dared not make any noise. That was why a knock on his door startled the life out of him, causing him to jump.

He looked out the window at the Engineer. Francis waved at him, curiosity etched into his face. Zachary’s face was growing hot as he opened the door.

“Whacha doin’ there, Sniper?” Francis asked.

“Nothing,” he shrugged off the question. He hesitated before he spoke again, “You?”

Francis leaned a forearm on the cab by the door, “I know this old truck well. I’d recognize it a mile away.”

Zachary tightened his lips. But of course he would recognize this vehicle. They had known each other for so long. It had been long before he even got this truck. Long before he realized that he was falling for the Engineer. It was long long before he learned that Francis was also gay.

“And?” Zachary kept a hold of the door handle.

Francis clicked his tongue, “Well, guess I figured it’d be nice to say hello, seeing as we were friends for so long.”

Zachary stayed quiet at that, unsure of what to say. What could he say? That Francis was right like he always was? That seventeen years had gone to waste? That they should never have parted in the first place?

He opened his mouth to speak, but words caught in his throat. HE held his breath as the silence lingered. He could not speak, or at least he dared not to. The only words that wanted to leave his lips were about how much he loved him. He wanted him back so badly.

He wanted to tell him, but how could he make it work? Seventeen years together and Francis could so suddenly up and leave? It had been so easy for the Engineer to just give it all up in a moment’s choice. Who was to say that he could trust him not to do that again? How could he even know that Francis wanted to be back with the Sniper.

“Well,” Francis took a breath, as he patted the truck, “I best get going.” He huffed as he headed over to his own truck.

Zachary slowly climbed down out of his truck. He looked over at the Engiener climbing into his own vehicle. He watched as he started up the ignition. Francis waved, so he waved back.

The truck pulled out of the parking spot and left him behind. He stood there for a minute, before he shut the truck. He tried to push the man out of his mind, as he approached room 68. It was difficult to erase the man who took him at his worst. It was too hard to forget the day that Francis came to life again, and in spite of Zachary’s behavior brushed off his favorite hat and kissed him.

He took a breath as he put himself in front of the staff member organizing everybody. He was paired off with a Soldier. He stood by the man quietly, trying to push away all of these thoughts. All those memories kept attacking his conscious thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push them back.

When they were called forward, the Soldier pushed him to bend over the foot of the bed. He did not resist. He was mostly too distracted with his own thoughts to really try to resist anything anyways. He simply braced himself as the Soldier filled him.

The Soldier slammed into him. He filled him over and over, giving him a relentless pounding from the start. He made sure to let the cameras get a good close look at what he was doing though. His hands cupped Zachary’s hips, angling him for the thrusting and allowing the camera to get a good angle for viewing.

His body responded, as it always did. It was nothing new for him. It was just that he did not want to actually be doing this. Just because his body wanted it, did not mean that _he_ wanted it. He just wanted out.

 

 

The end of the day was just that. It was the end of the day. And when he finally had his truck parked in its place out by the auction house, it was a dark end of the day.

He stepped outside beneath the light of the stars. He looked up to study the dark wisps of clouds in the sky. He leaned against the front of his truck and lit up a cigarette.

He quit smoking many years ago. Francis never liked it when people smoked around him. Given he always liked being around the Engineer, Zachary had quit cold turkey. It was the biggest struggle of his life.

Why not pick up the habit again? It was not like Francis was around anymore. He certainly was not reaching out to spend time with Zachary anymore. He was alone, just himself, his smokes and the life he was living in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zachary has unpleasant memories. To be explored in the future.


	9. Max Dominance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell is fitting right in with his new job.

The room was set in low lighting, leaving the occupants in low visual standing. The soft light of the candles danced around the walls. Shadows moved about, shaking like belly dancers as they teased at the concept of darkness, just beyond the beauty of the light.

The lighting shined over the bare skin of the big man on the bed. It made his gray eyes gleam as he stared. Eagerness sat in those eyes. The gleam of the light only emphasized the willing and wanting delight that shone in his irises.

The man he was watching strolled in casually, switch in hand. The leather straps and thigh high boots matched the strappings that held down the bear of a man he was approaching. He ran the flat end of the crop up a leg, admiring the muscle that tensed with anticipation. A quick snap of his wrist left a red stripe across the thigh and brought an uncomfortable grunt from his partner.

He moved slower, letting his crop trace over the man’s muscular form. He stopped at the neck, admiring the bulging powerful muscles that held up a small head. He was impressive, if disproportionate. His eyes roamed over the big man, studying the straps that haltered his body and fastened his arms over his head.

With his wrists stuck at the back of his head, he was rendered incapable of grabbing anything. Extra straps braided down his arms for aesthetic. The straps went all the way down, crossing over his chest and then lashing his legs together. It was a beautiful masterpiece. He could not have planned it out more beautifully himself.

“Is the patient ready for therapy?” he asked. His words were smooth and easy, though slightly menacing.

“Doctor is madman,” the Heavy’s voice was a deep rumble that pleased his ears. The Heavy could be seductive with just a drop of his voice, making himself from the soft spoken giant he had met, into a menacing yet sexy beast.

“Don’t be such a baby,” he flicked the crop across the bare abs, causing him to flinch. It was not yet enough. “Why don’t you just give in?” he purred, as he ran the crop slowly up his side.

“No!” the Heavy rumbled.

As if on cue, he smacked him twice. He reveled in his work for the moment. His cheeks grew sore from all his smiling. It was so much fun to work like this. His partner was tied down for his whims, yet he gave him such a pleading look that it commanded him to do all of the things that he wanted. His victim, though tied down as a victim in the story, was a willing and wanting participant in this marvelous activity.

“Will not give information,” Heavy said slowly. His voice was beautiful, but English was not his strong suit.

“Cut!” the director called.

Maxwell sighed as the moment became lost. What a disappointment for such a marvelous build up. Max’s blood was even boiling. A thumping in his ribcage was matching the throbbing in the pouch that his genitals were tucked into.

“ _I_ will not give information! Alright? Don’t forget the I! Take it from that line,” the director told the big man.

“Da,” the Heavy replied, “Heavy get it this time.”

Max fidgeted with his crop, longing to say something. He wanted to yell at the director. He remembered when he struggled with English and dealt with ignorant Americans. He even remembered how Boris used to struggle. _He_ was easy going though, laughing off Scout’s attempts to make him angry.

If working with Boris had taught him anything though, it was that English speakers were not fair to secondary English speakers. They were rude and callus. The hurtful way they tried to force the way they talked onto others made a dent in one’ mind. It could easily make a man less willing to speak.

“Action!” the command called his attention, but he could no longer remember the script. He stared at the Heavy for a long pause, wishing his mind had not wandered. He stared at the questioning expression staring back at him in confusion.

“Heavy!” the director called out.

“Da?” the Heavy inquired.

“Your line?” the director pressed.

“Da,” the Heavy nodded affirmatively.

Maxwell cleared his throat and shifted. Still, he waited for the cameras to roll again. As the scene began, he felt tenser. Arousal was still there, but the mood was not the same. They had to keep going though, for the sake of the cameras.

The Heavy took a deep breath, “I will…not give…information.”

The pause caused the director to yell again. “Heavy! Be determined! You’re refusing to give information. He doesn’t even have you by the balls yet!” the director had so much exasperation in his voice.

“Da, Heavy understand,” the big man looked up at the ceiling.

“Good! Action!” the director called.

“I will not give information,” the Heavy’s voice sounded so strained this time.

“Try it one more time!” the director demanded.

The Heavy sighed and looked to Maxwell, “Will not give information!”

“No!” the director barked, “ _I_ will not give information! Stop dropping the pronoun! You keep dropping the pronouns!”

“I will not give information!” the Heavy suddenly yelled.

The director almost immediately interrupted him by shouting, “The cameras are not rolling yet!”

Maxwell took a startled step back. The big man was more than a little upset by the director’s obsession. Maxwell could not blame him either. The director sighed loudly in frustration. Before he could say a word, Maxwell spun on his heel. He took a moment to balance himself in the boots.

“Why don’t you just let him drop the pronoun? Hmm?” he put anger behind his words, “You are obsessing about a tiny and insignificant line in a porno! You wanted a big handsome Russian body, you get the big husky Russian voice!” There were a few moments of silence before he spoke again. “If you weren’t so obsessive, you would probably be satisfied already!” he raised his voice a little.

There was a long silence after that. Maxwell took a few breaths to calm himself down. He turned back to Heavy, getting into his previous position.

“Let’s just…start up from the next line,” the director said hesitantly.

Maxwell took a breath and though back over the script. Without wasting much time, he unleashed a torrent of stripes across the man’s chest. When he was finished, he looked to the man again.

“Your best option is to cooperate,” he growled, with a joyous snicker.

“Never,” the Heavy growled.

From his peripheral vision, Max could see some staff members moving the small table on wheels closer to his reach. He was thankful for that, as the heels on his boots made movement difficult. He would rather not walk around.

“Will never talk!” the Heavy huffed, once again forgetting the pronoun. It did not seem to bother the director this time.

“I will make you talk,” Maxwell growled, taking a step towards the small table. He set down the crop, trading it out for a knotted rope. He snapped it tight between his hands dramatically. “I’m going to get your lips moving,” he stepped slowly towards the Heavy.

He was cautious on his unsteady heels. It would not take much to make him fall. It did make him wonder why anybody thought these boots were a good idea on a man with no practice in them. They were sexy on him, but not practical while he was on his feet.

Once beside the Heavy, he raised the rope to eye level, “Do you know what happens when you don’t cooperate?”

The Heavy visibly tensed at the sight. Still, there was a light in his eyes as he looked at the rope. The camera did not see what Maxwell saw, as the giant man’s cock twitched. Delight flooded Max’s body, as he brought the rope down. One, two, three times he lashed his body, bringing out flinches and twitches.

Maxwell’s mind delighted in the thought that this man wanted more. He slashed at him with the rope again. This time, he did not stop at three. He also did not take it easy on him. He brought the rope down harder and harder with each consecutive slash. He looked at the Heavy’s face, watching him become increasingly more bothered as well as more turned on with each hit.

“Okay doc,” the director brought the scene to a halt again, “Let’s move on to the next line. That was perfect.”

Maxwell looked back to the Heavy. The man’s eyes held desire. He was far from satisfied, but the show goes on.

“Please,” the Heavy huffed through a strained voice, “I will tell you! I will cooperate! Will give!”

Maxwell put on a pleased grin. He turned and strolled to the table again. He set the knotted rope down and took the lube. Still smiling, he turned and strolled to the bed.

“Will cooperate,” Heavy panted.

“Very good,” Maxwell cooed, “Cooperation gets you rewards.” He put some of the lube onto his hand.

“Heavy’s team in back alley. Wait for cue,” Heavy explained.

Max ran a hand along the underneath of his dick. Heavy hissed at the cold, then relaxed as his hand kept moving. His eyes watched Max work his dick, as delighted by the touch as Max was in his partner’s arousal.

“How many are there?” Max softened his voice.

“Two,” Heavy replied breathily.

Max tightened his grip hard on his dick, “Lies!”

The Heavy winced, biting his lip. Max waited for the man to say his line. He watched as the man laid there enjoying the pain. He was trying to stretch out the time.

“Loosen your grip,” somebody whispered.

Max quirked an eyebrow and decided to adjust his grip. His fingers loosened and adjusted along the shaft. The relief flooded the giant’s body just in time for the Max to squeeze again.

“Will tell! There are five!” Heavy threw out his line haphazardly.

“Good, good,” Maxwell cooed, as he loosened his grip and began stroking the generously proportioned cock, “What kind of men are they?”

“I don’t know,” Heavy grunted. He was busy reveling in the sensation of the hand on his member. Max stroked him for a while, letting the camera get a good look at the massive penis glistening with lubricant.

Finally, his line came up, “I’ll bet you would tell me _everything_ , if I rode your cock.”

He stopped as the camera zoomed in on the Heavy’s face. He was widening his eyes to look more excited about that idea. When the camera zoomed away, it was the Heavy’s turn to speak.

“Heavy will tell everything!” Heavy proclaimed.

“Oh will he now?” Maxwell asked with an innocent tone.

“Yes! Yes please!” Heavy licked his lip.

Maxwell clambered onto the bed and straddled the Heavy’s thighs. He crawled closer, “This? You want this?” He hooked his thumbs in the band of his thong.

“Sit and I’ll talk,” the big man’s eyes pleaded with him, while his head bobbed to gesture to his cock.

Maxwell smirked to himself as he put himself right on his dick. He was surprised at the size. It felt so good though, filling him up with throbbing hard flesh. He let out a shaky breath when he was fully seated on him. He had only that moment to gather his wits.

Heavy dug his heels and arched his body. His athletic prowess was amazing with muscles flexing in a powerful thrust of his pelvis. This had to be a specific exercise that the man did, as he easily bucked Max up into the air to fall back down again. It hurt like hell, and he would need medical attention, but for now, it exactly what a sado-masochist needed.

His mind swelled in pleasure, as he lost it in a cloud. It became heaven as hot lubricant filled him. He released his pleasure on the man’s belly and chest.

He needed a few minutes to recover from that. He was barely able to focus yet, when his body was lifted from the giant’s cock. He was laid down, to soon feel the soothing relief of healing rays. He eventually dozed off under the sensations he was enjoying. He only hoped to make this pleasure last.

 

 

He was not sure how or when he moved. Had somebody moved him? Who knew?

He only knew that he was laying in the motel room he shared with Dooley. He must have been drunk or something when he came here. Did it just escape his memory then?

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Dooley’s voice cut through his thoughts.

He was a little disappointed. Dooley was not really the kind of man who turned him on. This in his mind, he lost all of his delightful sensations. At least, he lost the memory of those sensations.

“Heard ya’ll went overboard,” Dooley said. He was busy with something at the counter top, “Hard at work?”

“Ja, well you go big or go home,” Max grumbled, feeling frustratedly chastised. He turned over in his bed to hug his pillow.

“They asked me to come over. Had to convince a man to help me carry you over on a stretcher,” Dooley went on, “Could work you until you pass out, but can’t be bothered to bring you to your room in the same damn building.”

Max groaned, wishing Dooley would just shut up. He did not want to listen, and he also did not want to talk. He lifted his eyelids, just enough to see the clock. It was late in the day and he had already missed his usual walk.

He turned over to look at Dooley, “What are you doing?”

“Prepping some food,” he replied, “You probably ain’t getting out of bed until sometime tomorrow. I ain’t going to be around tonight. I’ve made some sandwiches for you, and I’ll put it in the mini fridge.”

“Sandwiches? How bland,” Maxwell groaned and dug his face into his pillow. He was bluffing about his feelings on sandwiches. Sandwiches reminded him of Boris, in an honestly sentimental fashion that made him feel safe.

“Yea, but they’re easy to make and easy to store,” Dooley replied passively.

“Where are _you_ going?” Max asked, half-heartedly. He was not all-too-interested in whatever Dooley was doing. The man was not the kind of person to do anything fun anyways. “Do you finally have a job to do?”

“Nah,” Dooley replied in a hum, “Haven’t gotten any offers worth taking. A lot of…just…weird stuff.”

“Porn is going to be weird, Dooley,” Max grumbled loudly, “It’s _porn_.”

“Still,” Dooley rolled his eyes, “Nothing I’ve received in regard to scripts had been…half decent. I’ll just wait until they figure out how to make a solid offer. Anyways, I’m going to be over at the auction house.”

“Sounds like a job,” Max commented.

“Isn’t everybody working in room sixty eight?” Dooley asked.

Max sighed, “No. Some of the grittier filming is being done _in_ the auction house.”

“Well, I’m not going to a job,” Dooley grumbled, “I’m going to go see Frank. He invited me over to star gaze.”

“Oh! So, it’s a date!” Max smirked and turned over to look at Dooley’s back, “Good for you!”

“It’s not a date!” Dooley turned around. He paused before tossing a sandwich at Maxwell.

He managed to catch the food with his hand before it could land on his face. He took a bite of it, “So what are you going to do.”

“Ah you know. We’ll just talk. Spend time under the stars. Reminisce on the better days of being mercenaries,” Dooley shrugged.

“That is beyond all arguments a date,” Max laughed.

“No it’s not! We’re not doing anything like…we’re not investing in each other,” Dooley insisted, “We’re just friends. I’m getting to know him.”

“Dating is getting to know him,” Max offered with a giggle.

“I should have left you out on the cold sidewalk,” Dooley rolled his eyes as he turned back to what he was doing.

“Think you’ll get a kiss tonight?” Max pressed, delighted in this teasing game.

“Shut up,” Dooley grumbled.

“Oh come on,” Max chuckled, “You seem like you like him.”

“It’s too early for that,” Dooley replied, “Even if I do like him, he’s the kind of guy who needs to be wooed slowly.”

“He’s fucking men and women in room sixty eight,” Max replied flatly, “I don’t think you need to take it slow.”

“Well…I ain’t a whore and neither is he,” Dooley shrugged, “Besides, I’ve made mistakes before. I learned from those. I ain’t expecting that to happen in this…instance. Me and him are just friends. You got me? That’s all.”

“Alright Dooley,” Max rolled his eyes, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warn me? Warn me about what?” Dooley looked to him with surprise in his voice.

“About going on a date and pretending it’s not,” Max let a playful smile spread across his face.

“Oh come on! Grow up!” Dooley threw a hand, gesturing in irritated dismissal, “Frank ain’t interested in me like that anyways. I get crushes too hard anyways. Ain’t like it’s fate. It’s just two guys hanging out. Maybe having beers.”

“Two gays hanging out, maybe having beers,” Maxwell mocked.

“You’re jawing your way towards a beatin,’ boy,” Dooley warned, pointing to Maxwell, “You and I are friends. You and I have hung out. Hell, we’ve done things together people would classify as dates. We’re _both_ gay! But, you won’t catch me smacking lips with you.”

With that, Dooley turned around, shaking his head. He wrapped a few sandwiches in clear wrap and put them in the mini fridge like he promised. He put a couple in a small lunch box for himself.

Maxwell rested his head as Dooley headed to the door. The insinuation that the two of them would ever be together was insulting. They were not even each other’s types. Partly because they were a similar type, and required the same kind of partner. He wished the best for Dooley, but it was not with himself.

“Rest up, Max,” Dooley paused as he opened the door, “Don’t pull a muscle in that ass of yours.” He giggled as he teased.

“Ja? Well, I do wish you luck in getting something in yours tonight,” Maxwell raised an arm to gesture in goodbye.

There was a moment of silence, in which Dooley was probably frowning but Maxwell could not see it from this angle. The door creaked slowly shut. It was gently and carefully closed tight. It automatically locked, leaving Maxwell feeling safe and sound on the inside.

He sighed, sitting up to finish that sandwich Dooley had thrown at him. He had not realized he had such an appetite before. It must have been all of that work. Sex could really work up an appetite, after all. All the work he had to put into getting _to_ the sex had worked up the majority of that appetite.


	10. A Special Something for a Special Someone

The warm wet space was a fitting style for sex. It was just disheartening that Francis had to stop so often. They had been at this for over an hour now. Could they not get a damn scene finished to the point of just spilling seed?

How many times he could have cum. He was stopped and forced to hold off so many times. Honestly, he just wanted to ejaculate and be done with it. The director wanted perfection though.

All the while, it felt like he was having intercourse with a whore. It seemed similar enough. The only real difference was that her customer was not partaking in her body. Maybe that was just the difference between prostitute and porn star.

He tried not to think about how that applied to him, which was easy enough as the director called to him to stop. He pulled out and rolled off the bed. He toddled to the table in the corner. He was getting exhausted and needed a cup of coffee to keep himself going.

“Gotta juice up to keep going, old timer?” a woman teased, as she reached past him to grab a bagel.

“I came in on a quarter tank,” he admitted, thinking on how tired he had been when he came to work this morning.

“Might I suggest something stronger?” she shook a bottle of pills at him.

“No thanks,” he waved a hand, gesturing his refusal.

“Really? In this line of work, these come in handy!” she insisted. She shook a pill out into her hand and popped it into her mouth. She grabbed his coffee from his hand. Before he could protest, she took a sip and swallowed. “See? Easy to take, even with your coffee.”

He chuckled awkwardly as she handed him the Styrofoam cup. He looked down into the dark beverage, then shook his head. He was not willing to be lured into drugs. Who knew what that would do to him.

“No thanks, ma’am. I’ll stick to good ol’ joe,” he raised his cup to her, before taking a sip.

“Alright then,” she shrugged and move don.

He was called over to start again. He took a few gulps of the hot coffee. He licked his lips and set the coffee aside.

He approached the lovely brunette who climbed onto the bed from behind. She was a stunning woman. Her rump was perfectly round and glistening under the many lights. Her back had a steep dip as she arched it. She made herself something that men wanted to have.

If only she was a man though. A man with the full package, bent over like this, with a little stubble on his chin to make the way he looks back at him feel more right. That was what Francis wanted to see. That was all he could put in his mind’s eye as he settled his hands on her soft supple waist. She was soft and had everything in the perfect place, as a sexy woman should.

His thumbs pulled apart her cheeks, revealing more of the warm pink flesh of her under carriage. His dick began to feel the heat of blood rushing to it. That was not for her though. He put the picture in his mind and it became a little easier to get started again.

 

 

On his way to his truck, he spotted Dex lingering by his own truck. He chuckled to himself as he waved. Dex waved back when he noticed him, looking a bit shy and timid about it. It was probably no coincidence. Well, it was likely a coincidence, since Dex stayed at the motel and was parked in the same spot he had been that morning. But that little smile, with that timid way of acting was all too telling.

He preferred to think it was not coincidence. He enjoyed the thought that Dex might enjoy their time together a lot. Maybe he even enjoyed it too much. Either way, it was nice having the company of somebody who just seemed so down to Earth and wholesome.

“Howdy, Dex!” he nodded to him in greeting.

“Good eve, partner,” Dex responded. He had that cute little smile on his face.

“Ya’ll doing alirhgt? I ain’t seen the doc around much. How’s he doing?” Francis asked, making some small chatter.

“He’s alright,” Dex leaned an arm on his truck. Despite the cold, his sleeve was rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscles built from years of working with his hands. “He’s resting after a rough job yesterday.”

Francis nodded as he listened. He took a minute to think before speaking again, “What’ll you be up to for the rest of the day?”

Dex gave a nervous chuckle, “Well, I was hoping you might want to grab a bite to eat with me? Maxwell’s under the weather. It’s a mite lonesome going to a diner otherwise.”

Francis hesitated. He was hungry, but he was very tired as well. His body was warring with itself on what it wanted first.

“I was hoping to rest a bit before eating,” he blurted without thinking. He immediately regretted his words, realizing that Dex might dismiss him to rest. “I’d enjoy company,” he hastily back pedaled, “I just don’t feel I can sit upright at a diner. You know?”

Dex smiled and nodded, “Of course! Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we head over the pass to the cliffside?”

“Cliffside?” Francis inquired curiously. He head not heard anything about a cliffside in the area. Granted, he had not paid much mind to the surrounding areas at all.

“I have been checking out the local area,” Dex explained, “There’s this old abandoned campsite. It’s over by a cliff. There’s an open coal fire barbeque and it’s quiet.”

“You know where to find coal for that?” Francis inquired. You cannot just set up a barbeque without coal.

Dex grinned proudly, “Iv’e been planning to go out there myself. Maxwell’s been…wanting the room to himself some nights.” Dex gave him a look that insinuating something.

Without thinking too deeply about it, Francis smiled and nodded, “Alright then. You got it figured out, I suppose. Whose truck are we taking?”

“Let’s take yours,” Dex gave Francis’ truck a pat, “Let me grab the cooler.”

Francis nodded and climbed into the truck to start it. Getting the heater working, the temperature started rising. He had not realized just how cold it was, yet how relieving it had been. The work room tended to be very hot when people were working. Sex was exhaustingly sweat-inducing and the lights just added to it all.

He set his hands on the wheel, wishing he could just lay back and sleep. Maybe he should not have asked for company. Maybe he should have just dismissed himself for the day so he could rest. It would have been good for him to recharge.

He ran his hands over his face, slightly perturbed upon remembering that all of him smelled like sex. He winced, wishing he could have showered before this meeting. Dex could probably smell it lingering on him. At least if they were by a cliffside, out at an old campsite, they would be out in the open where it would not matter so much.

The door opening startled him. He opened his eyes, but he did not recall ever closing them. He quickly ran a hand over his eyes and then put the vehicle into reverse to pull out.

“Got the cooler in the back,” Dex informed him, as they left the parking lot of the little motel, “We’ve got hotdogs, some giant marshmallows bigger than your eyes, and plenty of beer to get wasted.”

“Sounds like a good party,” Francis chuckled, trying to make light of the heavy feeling in his head. He put all of his focus into driving, or at least as much focus as he could muster.

“Heh, figured since we’ll be drinking we might end up staying at the campsite overnight,” Dex told him, “Wouldn’t be a good idea to drive back drunk.”

“Oh…heh, that’s right,” Francis felt his cheeks blush. Why though? He did not mind the idea of sharing a bed with a man. He had shared sleeping space with men before.

“That’s not a problem, is it?” Dex asked.

“Not at all,” Francis flashed him a toothy grin.

“You doing alright?” Dex replied.

“Sure, I’m fine,” he could not help but yawn, covering his mouth with a hand.

“Ya look like you’re about to pull off the road with your face on the wheel,” Dex explained.

“Just a bit tired,” he admitted, with yet another yawn. Boy he could not stop relaxing and yawning.

“How about we switch seat?” Dex offered, “You rest and I’ll drive. I know the way there anyhow.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, finding a safe shoulder to pull over.

The two of them clambered out of the truck. They met at the front, meeting for a moment. He thought he felt the other man’s hand brush against his own. He ignored it, until he was finally in his seat. In the warmth of the truck, with no responsibility other than to buckle his seatbelt, he could think about whatever he wanted.

“Buckle up,” Dex said. This was redundant because Francis already had his seatbelt buckled.

Francis just chuckled and watched to see where they went. Somewhere along the way, his eyes decided to close. From there, his mind drifted off into empty-headed thoughts. Those empty thoughts led him to feeling blissful and awake somewhere else.

A hand gently shook his shoulder. He was startled out of sleep, to find that they had stopped. They were parked in an overgrown area filled with weeds. It was a lovely view though, with the cliffside ending where the sun drops below.

“Oh…we’re here, huh?” Francis blinked sleepily.

“Yea,” Dex smiled at him, “I got your tailgate down. Let’s gave a seat at the back. I’ll get the barbeque started.”

Francis nodded and silently climbed out of the truck. He rubbed his eyes sleepily as he lumbered to the back. He felt like he should be fast asleep, like it was two in the morning. Yet as he looked to the sky, he saw that the sun was still well in view. It was dropping, but it was not yet setting upon the horizon’s line.

He hopped up onto the tailgate, shifting to get comfortable. Apparently, Dex had already found the thick blanket he kept in his things and had laid it over the tailgate for them to sit. He was appreciative for it, considering he might be in pain otherwise.

“So,” Dex clearly wanted to make conversation while he was getting the barbeque lit. It was not clear if he had any clear idea of what he wanted to talk about at this moment.

“So,” Francis responded in kind.

“Anything interesting happening lately?” Dex asked.

“Not really,” Francis shrugged, “I mean…well…work is interesting, I suppose.”

Dex’s flushed face told enough and he fell silent. The two of them were alike in not wanting to know what another man did in his own private quarters. Worse, they did not want to know what the other man was doing in that room for money.

There was something dirty about it. They were all here working the same job, yet somehow it felt so dirty. It was like they were being paid to get with hookers. He normally would not do so, not after his libido calmed down in his early years.

Dex cleared his throat, “Think you’ll do this job long?”

There was a long silence. Was he actually asking that? Francis actually had to ask himself if he was really asking about that.

“I’m not sure,” he shrugged, “I hadn’t considered what I’ll be doing in the future. I hadn’t…considered a change either. I suppose that’s a possibility.”

Dex took a deep breath and nodded. He was chewing on the inside of his lip, busily. Perhaps he was thinking about Francis’ answer. Or perhaps he was thinking about his own answer.

“I ain’t planning on staying long,” Dex professed, “I came here cause of doc. We ain’t got much funds left. Doesn’t help we uh…ran into some friends who needed a financial loan.”

Francis chuckled, “Not much of friends if they can’t help you out as well.”

“They were in a tight bind,” Dex shrugged.

The taste of freedom hung in the air. Francis took a deep whiff of it, enjoying the sweet sensation. For a moment, he could pretend everything was behind him. The exhaustion he was feeling was just from the fight of getting free.

“Almost done,” Dex hopped up onto the tailgate, seating himself next to Francis. He reached back and pulled the white and blue box forward. He popped it open, then handed Francis a cold, wet glass bottle of beer. “Drinks on me,” Dex grinned, as he popped the top off with his bare hand.

“Cheers,” Francis replied as he did the same. The smell of an open fire, with cooking meat, and the fresh taste of cold wheat produce made it all perfect.

He chuckled to himself as he realized how romantic this setting must seem. They were here alone, with just the kind of food they like, with the kind of alcoholic beverage they liked, and the air felt just right. It felt so good that he was comfortable. He was not sure he was ever so comfortable before this, or if this could be had with just anybody.

Maybe it was Dex. He did not have to look at him to see that he was right there. His presence felt unlike any other’s presence. He was sweet and soft. He was especially thoughtful.

Francis was not sure he could feel this comfortable around anybody else. This whole atmosphere only felt fantastic because he felt free next to this man. He could be himself, regardless. And all the while, he knew the other man would talk back, rather than sit by as a passive creature.

“Reminds me of the time I had a picnic down in Mexico with the boys,” Dex grinned to himself.

Francis was not sure why that made him feel disheartened. He might as well pry further though, “What’d you do?”

“Oh you know,” Dex wiped his mouth on his sleeve, “Me and the boys on my team… We found some mountains and got up on a perch. It was more Maur- Spy’s idea. Just some boys drinking beers together.” He took another swig of his beer, practically chugging it down.

Francis had not planned on anything, so he was not sure when he ended up laying his arm over Dex’s shoulders. The other man noticed and his face started to flush. If this went poorly, then perhaps he could just blame this on exhaustion.

Dex’s face turned to him, bearing a grin. Francis’ heart was beating against its eternal cage. They were sitting so close together, and now their faces were so close together.

His eyes became drawn to Dex’s lips. He found himself leaning forward. He found Dex meeting him halfway. Their lips barely parted as they touched, soft flesh against soft flesh, mixing with the skin that held stubble that was due to be shaved away. The taste of beer intermingled with saliva as their lips parted.

After a few moments, their lips parted. It took longer for both of their eyes to open. He stared back into the other man’s eyes, feeling a bit taken away by the breeze. The moment felt just right, as if the lack of planning meant nothing. Or perhaps, it was meant to go this way.

“You’re a good kisser,” Dex chuckled softly.

“You know how to plan for somebody to fall for you,” Francis chuckled in response.

Dex flinched in surprise, “This wasn’t- I hadn’t-” His face was red with embarrassment.

Francis chuckled, “That’s alright. I’ll keep your secret. You’re a good kisser too, by the way.”

Dex smiled nervously, “I ain’t…I didn’t mean anything by it. I mean…”

“It’s alright,” Francis hesitated. He studied Dex’s visage, wondering how long it had been since they had met. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you got so darn sweet.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask how you got so damn good looking,” Dex replied, without missing a beat.

It was Francis’ turn to flush. He felt the heat build up in his cheeks as he smiled at the other man. This was too perfect. He had not considered a possible interest in Dex as being more than a friend before, but now it only seemed right.

“This ain’t-” Dex’s hand went up to block Francis’ next attempt to kiss him, “This isn’t going to be one of those times when somebody’s in a different mindset, says some sweet things, and then takes it back when they’re clear of mind, is it?”

Francis paused, studying the concerned look on Dex’s face. The man must have been hurt badly to be this defensive. Instead of letting off, he shifted his arm over Dex’s shoulders. He tried to pull him a little closer, hoping to make it feel more intimate.

“Well, let’s see how it goes from here. Why don’t we?” Francis offered, “Consider it a uh…trial run before doing any serious work.”

Dex’s hand slowly dropped. A hopeful look glimmered in his eye. He drew closer, moving the tip of his nose to the tip of Francis’ nose. Before they could get drawn in again, Dex was startled by the smell of smoke. He leaped from the tailgate of the truck and hurried to stop his meat from burning.

Francis chuckled to himself. It felt good to be outside and with somebody like this. It felt good to finally feel like he had a real connection. It felt like this was the thing that he was missing.


	11. Something More for Somebody New

Dooley felt warm laying on the cold metal of the truck. He was smiling to himself all the while. He had never felt so wanted before, like somebody wanted to be there with him. He never felt that wonderful sensation of somebody holding on tighter than he was holding onto them. A tiny piece of his mind was holding onto doubt, mostly out of fear than anything else.

Haltering his doubts, he tried to focus on what was happening now. At the moment, he was being cuddled, with a thick muscular arm wrapped around his middle. He felt protected, as the other man held him close, enjoying the proximity of another living body.

“Wish we could have met under different circumstances,” Frank sighed.

The arm wrapped around him shifted. It did not try to move away. It just tried to pull him closer, into a tighter hug. The heartfelt comment with the gesture did not go past Dooley. He decided to nuzzle the shoulder connected to that arm to show his gratitude.

“You know…I kinda had a crush on you from day one,” Dooley chuckled, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“You sound like a kid confessing for the first time,” Frank snickered.

“Well, look at you,” Dooley reached over to gesture at Frank. He made sure to get all of him, from head to toe. “Any man with the right idea would have had the same feeling about you.”

“That’s why?” Frank laughed.

“Well no,” Dooley rolled his eyes, “You’re good lookin,’ but we also talk a lot. You’re the kind of man somebody could open up to.”

“Yea, I’m used to that,” Frank chuckled heartily.

“Oh…I’m sorry,” Dooley felt ashamed. Maybe it was something that happened so often that it got on his nerves.

“Not at all, partner,” Frank insisted, “I enjoy being that for people. Friends usually come to me for talking. I just sit back and listen.” Frank sighed, the fingers on the other side of Dooley gently caressed his arm. “With you it’s different.”

“How is it different?” Dooley asked eagerly. His heart was pounding with a need to know about this.

“You…well…I only ever had one person I could talk to. Open up to, you know? He was never a talker though. It was either…listen to my friends…or talk at my boyfriend,” Frank explained somberly.

Dooley thought back to day one. He remembered a Sniper approaching Frank. It had been the most awkward meeting he had ever had to witness. Worse, it had been a breakup unlike any other he had ever seen.

“I’m sorry it was like that,” Dooley said quietly.

The arm around him squeezed him again. They were silent for a moment. Frank pressed his head against Dooley’s head, in an affectionate manner.

“With you, it ain’t like that,” Frank said softly, “Day one, you were already at my side like a best friend. I figured you had taken a liking to me, at least a little. I figured we would be good friends. Spending time with you…I just like it so much.”

“Are we best friends then?” Dooley asked, turning his head to look at him.

“I don’t know,” Frank studied his face, “I think I’d like to be more than that.”

In his mind, Dooley wanted to ask so many doubtful questions. There was so much about this that he was not so sure about. He wanted to back up a step and make sure they were not taking things too fast. This was his one chance, after all. He did not want to blow it on things going the wrong way.

His heart opposed his logic. His heart wanted to seek more. He wanted to lurch forward and take more. And as if with a mind of its own, his hand snatched the front of Frank’s shirt. It clung to him, not wanting to let go, wanting to pull him closer and hold him tighter.

“I wanna take things slow,” Dooley’s face felt so hot from the mixed signals he must have been giving to Frank.

“Then why are you clinging to me like that,” Frank asked, looking a little bewildered.

“Because I don’t,” Dooley pulled on him, drawing him into a kiss.

He liked how the other arm came around him. He liked how Frank did not pull back or hold back. Instead, he pressed forward, physically asking for more by pulling him close and kissing him deeply.

He responded by asking as well, hands grasping at clothing. Frank was being diligently compliant. Almost so much so that it worried Dooley. He could not worry too much though. He had next to no worry when his hands came in contact with bare skin. It made him more comfortable when he removed his own shirt, letting the world see how much softer and pudgier his belly was than the other’s six pack abdomen.

Hands grasped for more. They pulled and unbuttoned and yanked and twisted. They pushed each other around to get better angles. Before he was really sure about what he was doing, Dooley was bare naked in the back of the truck, rutting against the other man.

Frank grunted, running a hand through the hair on Dooley’s chest. Their kiss finally parted and Dooley had to face what he was doing. The body before him was gorgeous. That thought only made him want him more. It only made his aching dick twitch, as he rutted against the other man’s body.

Frank was looking down, admiring the scene. He seemed to enjoy the view well enough, hot pink flesh pressed against hot twitching pink flesh. It only made Dooley more desperate to rub against him, to find friction.

Frank joined in, trying to meet him thrust for thrust. Frank’s hand ran up his back, sending shivers down his spine. It felt good to be as wanted as he wanted the other man.

He pulled back, huffing as his body decided he needed more air than he was getting. He met Frank’s curious gaze, perhaps confused that they had stopped. He said nothing, not sure how to explain what was in his mind. Instead, he decided to show him.

He shifted to his knees and gestured for Frank to scoot up on the truck bed. Not giving much protest, the other man crawled backwards. He reached over to grab a pillow, putting it under his head in a way that it could be shared.

His idea would not require pillows. Instead, he took a hold of the man’s gorgeous member and gave him a gentle stroke. He kept an eye on Frank’s face to make sure he was not crossing any lines, though he was sure that they were long past that point. Frank showed a bit of his teeth as he bit his lip, watching Dooley work.

He slowly got down to a comfortable level. Frank’s brows seemed to move up a little as Dooley moved closer to his dick. His eyes widened a little when he stuck out his tongue and ran the flat of it up his shaft. He shuddered and let out a small whimper as his tongue reached the tip. To top it all off was a beautiful flushed color on the man’s cheeks, giving him a needy yet embarrassed look.

Dooley shot him a grin, before he took his head into his mouth. Small grunts and groans came from the man’s throat. He slowly worked his way down. It was not long before he was reminded of how very little practice he had had of this lately. His gag reflex was strong and a large penis pressed against his uvula was not the sexiest thing. He tried to disguised his gagging, while pulling back a bit. He let his hand stroke the rest of his shaft, hopefully spreading some of the saliva along.

When he pulled off of his dick, there was a loud pop. He looked at Frank with a slightly satisfied yet slightly embarrassed grin. Giving a blow job was not exactly the most proud thing to do.

“I’ve been given head too many times to count in the past few weeks,” Frank admitted breathily, “But that has to be the best one yet.”

“You don’t mean that,” Dooley smiled. He knew Frank had been doing a lot of work lately. He must have been with a few practiced men already, if not some porn stars who really knew what they were doing with a dick. “I ain’t no good at it, but that ain’t going to stop me from trying.”

“It wasn’t…fantastic, no,” Frank admitted, but he was still smiling, “I can’t say I ever looked at this angle and wanted it to keep going like this.”

“You want me to finish you?” he took a hold of the base of his dick.

“I…I wanted to know what you were planning on doing,” Frank’s face turned redder, “If you wanted oral…I can…I can do that…just…you gotta have patience with a novice.”

“Nothing like that,” Dooley assured him.

His cheeks were hurting from how much he was smiling. The glee was purely overflowing from his body. He was practically vibrating from happiness.

He climbed over Frank, giving him just enough space to adjust his position. He still seemed pretty clueless as they came face to face. The cluelessness wiped right off of his face when Dooley took a hold of his wet erection and pressed it to his own buttocks. Wide delighted eyes stared up at him as he pushed down. The tight squeeze was painful but he was ready for the pain.

He bit down as he pushed further. The thick phallus stretched him in a painful way, but it was good. It was that sickeningly sweet kind of pain, it made your body react like it was being stabbed, yet it begged for more to be inflicted upon it. It was the best kind of pain. In fact, the farther in it pushed, the better it felt. It began pushing right up against that sweet spot and Dooley’s body melted.

“Wow,” Frank breathed. His hands ran up Dooley’s thighs, watching as he began to move up and down on him. “This is…this is perfect.”

Dooley panted as he worked up a steady pace. He gave Frank a smile. He was so excited, his needy cock was twitching. It was beginning to bounce along with him, bumping between their bellies.

“Wow,” Frank breathed again.

“I know,” Dooley replied, wanting to give something in return for the reactions he was receiving.

Frank’s hand moved up to take a hold of Dooley’s free member. At first, it seemed that he was just going to keep it from bumping up and down against him. After a brief few moments of consideration, he began stroking his member, rubbing up and down along his length.

“Thank you kindly,” Dooley blushed, adjusting his position so that he could bounce harder on him.

“You don’t know how good this feels,” Frank said in return, eyes floating up and down over Dooley’s body.

“Don’t I?” he replied, trying to seem coy.

“I can’t say I’ve ever experienced something I wanted so badly,” Frank was just about grinning from ear to ear, “And I never knew I wanted this until now.”

Dooley let silence reign for a few minutes. It was just the huffs of their breath and the sounds of their bodies bumping against each other. Their words sort of froze for the time being.

“What about…all of those porn stars at work?” Dooley inquired.

“Not a single one of them was this good,” Frank insisted, nodding.

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Dooley replied, feeling flattered.

“I didn’t want them like I want you,” Frank explained, pumping his dick faster, “I wanted you. I want you. I have you. It’s unlike anything I’ve had before. I-” Frank’s words cut off as he suddenly cried out. Unable to control himself he released his ejaculate.

Dooley bounced on him a few more times before he finally reached his own peak. He had had enough of the stimulation. Enough being enough for now, he slipped off of his member and laid down next to him. Almost immediately, arms came around him and he was snuggled up against the hardened and sweaty body he had just ridden.

“Best sex of my life,” Frank breathed.

“Heh,” Dooley did his best to hide the look on his face. It would not look good to be so cocky about having satisfied a man so well. At least, he did not think it would.

“I thought you wanted to take things slowly?” Frank was inquisitive as he nuzzled Dooley’s cheek.

“Well…I guess I did, but I didn’t,” Dooley let out a breathy chuckled, “You know?”

“I know,” Frank pressed a kiss to his cheek, while arms wrapped tenderly around him.

He felt so happy and protected within this man’s embrace. This moment’s sensations, even with the high fading away from his mind, were all too perfect. He was in Heaven here, and he never intended to leave.

He took one of Frank’s hands, interlinking their fingers together. He smiled, looking at how their hands meshed well, “Best time of my life.”

“Glad to be here for it,” Frank whispered by his ear.

They shared a chuckle, but otherwise fell silent. They were laying naked beneath the stars, staring up at them together. As the nightly chill began to settle in, Frank pulled a thick blanket over them, protecting them from the weather’s icy fingers. With a body next to him, the space beneath the cover grew warm very quickly.

Dooley did not mind the warmth or the sweat built up between them. Their bodies pressed together in intimate touch, neither daring to pull away from the other. It was the most romantic gesture he had ever experienced for himself. It made him feel good and special. That sensation of being loved and wanted just spread goose bumps and warm feelings through his chest.

As the night settled in, they both drifted off to sleep. Neither managed to have a cold beer or finish any of the meat that had been prepared. They just laid together beneath the stars, dreaming of what they had done and what they would do together.


	12. Party of the Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mercenaries throw a bash for fourth of July.

June 2010

Winter and spring had faded away with the passing of several months. The summer heat set in. The sun was set overhead each day, stretching out the daylight time like it knew the blooming flowers were asking for more.

The light glowed over the fields, making each color poignant. The flowers that appeared were contrasted upon green fields that swayed with the breeze. It picked up the flowers and whisked them away. It tossed the plant life about in a sultry dance.

It was not even that hot out here. When one had the relativity of New Mexico’s desert heat to compare it to, it was a little more like spring was still hanging around. Not much had changed yet. All that told people that it was summer around here were the words written on calendars hung up around shops and randomly fallen like litter upon the ground.

Francis barely kept track of the days anymore. Sure, he watched the clock tick by. Any man who had to put in his time at work had to do so. He would watch the clock, get his work done and then hurry off to what was truly important. Work became such a blur that he had already forgotten he was in a project.

The director’s approach was fresh in his mind. As if the man knew he had forgotten, he came to talk to him about it. Then of course there was a bit on how the director thought he should be portrayed as some sort of hero in the end of the story. Francis did not care about all of that. Frankly, it was just a lot of porn. A lot of sex was going into this porno, and it only disturbed him the longer it dragged on. He tried not to think about it too much.

Instead, he put his focus on the time he spent after work. The majority of his time went towards Dexter Dooley. The man managed to make every day interesting too, as if it was not enough to be two happy men with their usual routine at the diner. Some days, they went to the diner for a bite, and other days they went on a drive. With all of the time he had, Dooley spent most of it preparing these little adventures, even going so far as to cook for their trip, and even something to leave for his Medic friend.

Today’s idea was a trip out to an open field for a picnic out of the back of his truck. Dex had cooked a meal worthy of a king, with barbeque chicken that was falling off the bones. Out here where the grass grew tall, it was hard to find a spot to sit, so they parked their backsides and everything they were using in the back of the truck. It was a nice perch anyways, giving them someplace to sit side by side while looking out at the marvelous sea of spring blossoms.

Wiping fingers clean on a napkin, Dex busied himself with a canteen of sweet tea. He poured a couple of small cups of tea, offering one over to Francis. He lifted it with a nod in gratitude before taking a gulp. It was warm and refreshing, the kind of tea that you don’t find just anywhere. It reminded him of a home he left behind long ago, when a long day’s work on a ranch left hungry boys on the porch waiting for food to finish cooking. His ma used to stomp out and open the big jug left out in the sunshine with herbs in little caskets drifting in the water. She would test the water with a big wooden spoon, then bark at them about satisfying their bellies with some sun kissed blessing.

“The flowers are beautiful this time of year,” Dex chuckled.

Francis nodded in agreement, “I don’t think I know enough men who stop to appreciate that.”

Dex chuckled again, in that cute awkward way he did, “Well, I’m remembering not six months ago when this was all wet and darkened grass.”

“What a winter it’s been,” Francis nodded in agreement, before taking another drink of his tea.

“Ya’ll haven’t…” Dex cut off, staring at his little cup of tea with a forlorn look on his face. He did not get this way often, but Francis had learned his periodic cycle of self-doubt.

“You can ask me anything,” Francis smiled, reassuringly.

Dex nodded again, but was still quiet. He was not yet sure of himself and it troubled Francis. “You aren’t getting…getting bored or anything, are you?” was his nervous inquiry.

“Bored?” Francis set his drink aside so that he would not spill, “Why would I get bored?”

“Everybody get bored,” Dex gave him a small smile, but Francis could see the self-depreciation behind it, “Every once in a while.”

“You plan something new for us every day,” Francis shook his head, “I can barely keep up with you. If you didn’t put so much work into making every day so special, I would ask you to stop. We could spend our every day at the diner chatting over Miss Bridgette’s biscuits and cherry pie, and I still wouldn’t get bothered or bored.”

A sigh left Dex as he looked down at his drink, perhaps a sign that he was relieved. Francis kept his smile on, in case Dex looked his way looking for assurance. He would not let it down for even a moment, in hopes that he would take comfort in knowing that he was serious.

“That’s good to hear,” Dex let out a chuff as he looked back up at Francis’ face, “I ran short of ideas some weeks ago. I’ve been repeating some ideas, hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Francis insisted.

“I just don’t…want you to get bored or nothing,” Dex explained.

“Nah,” Francis gestured dismissively, “It ain’t your job to keep me preoccupied! Don’t worry about it none.”

“I…well…okay,” Dex finally resigned to agreeing and leaned against Francis’ shoulder.

“The chicken is delicious by the way,” he took another bite of the food, enjoying the way the other man leaned against him.

 

 

July 2010

Neither of them had planned anything for the time being. Dex was taking a break from constantly planning outings. Somebody else had planned something though. It went off with a loud bang that sent the whole town into panic. Dozens of mercenaries gathered rather quickly beneath the exploding flames of bursting light.

Francis and Dex chuckled together when they realized what it was. The light show went on, with an assortment of bright and colorful fireworks lighting up the sky. They marveled at the unique style of each individual one. It was nice to have something new and spontaneous to do. In fact, it seemed that everybody else felt the same way too.

Despite it coming completely out of left field, the entire crowd of mercenaries was having a good time. Laughter raised up as friends gathered together. It was the first time that anything like this had happened in this little town. It was the first time that anything had really gathered the mercenaries together into a conglomerate of friends.

It reminded Francis of the time that his friends had made a party, inviting people from both BLU and RED sides. Both Pyros had cooked the food together. BLU Spy had been the one to put together arrangements, getting everybody in the same place at the same time, with tables and chairs. It was the first get together that had sparked quite a change for the whole of both teams. He wondered what something like that could do for the mercenaries living and working here.

He gave Dex a nudge with his elbow, “What say we grab a barbeque and start cooking?”

Dex gave him a puzzled look, “You hungry?”

Francis gestured to the men around them, “Look at this. It’s fourth of July!” That’s when it hit him as to why somebody had started setting off fireworks.

Dex took in a quick gasp, “Andrew woulda liked this.”

“Andrew?” Francis looked at him curiously.

Dex quickly shied away, “A Soldier. He was a good friend of mine.”

Francis nodded, “I reckon Jane would have liked this too. A great deal of men I used to work with would.”

“Uh huh,” Dex nodded in agreement and relaxed a bit.

“That’s why I’m saying we should start a barbeque,” Francis further explained.

“I don’t reckon I have that much meat to grill,” Dex admitted.

“Well, I just got paid,” Francis grinned, “I’ll run to the store and buy up what I can. You get the grill started.”

“Alright,” Dex agreed, before they parted ways.

Francis hurried to his truck and pulled out of the parking lot. By the time he started down the street, people were already leaving. They were growing bored of the light show.

“Don’t leave yet,” he muttered quietly.

When he reached the store, he hurried to grab all of the hotdog buns, hamburger buns and meats that he could get his hands on. He grabbed some condiments too, figuring that many of the men there would want condiments on their food. Who wanted a boring burger? But of course, that was when he thought of grabbing cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and pickles. They would be hard pressed to get them all sliced, but he figured they would get it sorted in short time. In the meantime, he just had to pay for this stuff and get back to where the fireworks were going off.

“Francis?” a familiar voice with the lilt of a Scottish brogue caught his attention.

He spun around, following the twist of his neck. He blinked, turning his head up a bit to look at the grinning face of a Demoman. He needed a moment to recognize him, for a while only really noticing that he was a Demoman. That devilish smile and the kind eye plucked at his memory though.

“Demo!” was all he could think to say. He was the BLU Demoman from where he used to work. He could not recall if the man ever gave him his actual name though, and that was embarrassing.

“How are you doing lad? What are you doing? What the hell are you doing here?” the man rambled.

“Well, I’m trying to buy some food for a barbeque,” he gestured to his basket full of food.

“Aye, I’m here for whiskey,” the Demoman held up the twin bottles he was holding in one hand, “What are you doing here though? In this town? Small place it is. I heard there’s a lot of mercenaries around this lot. I thought maybe I’d come find some familiar faces. Come here and I find a whole lot of nothing!”

“What are you talking about?” Francis started unloading the food onto the cashier’s counter to check out, “There’s a whole Fourth of July fireworks show going on outside!”

“Where?” the man seemed ever so slightly belligerent.

“Down the street,” he hastened to get everything checked out, “Listen, help me get this out the door and into my truck and I’ll show you where it is.”

The Demoman shrugged and began helping with the things he was moving. Between the two of them, they were able to unload and reload the cart quickly. They hurried out to the truck and once again moved all of the food. Once they finished, Francis jumped into the driver’s side of his cab.

“I’ll be right behind ya!” the Demoman called, as he clambered into the cab of a similar pickup truck.

Francis took the lead down the street. It was not far from the grocery store and the Demoman could have found his way there himself. This was fine all the same, at least somebody would come to join them for their little barbeque.

When he arrived, Dooley was loading coal into the barbeque. He clambered out of the truck and waved to him, “I got all you can possibly cook!”

“I hope it’s a lot, because I keep getting asked about it,” Dex called back, “I think we’ll have a mite too many guests.”

“It’ll be alright,” Francis insisted, as he started unloading food from the back.

The Demoman pulled in behind him to park. He got out and looked around. The fireworks had finished, giving away to the low ground sparklers and bright lighters. Some people were walking around waving wands around like they were magic, having a grand time.

He quickly brought burgers and hotdogs to the barbeque so that Dex could get started. While he was busy with that, he began unloading the rest to prep it all.

“You didn’t buy any plates, did ya?” the Demo approached Francis from the side as he was unloading vegetables.

He hesitated, looking at the heads of lettuce in hand, “Shit.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you covered,” the Demo chuckled, “I’ll be back with something to eat on. Don’t say I didn’t pay you a favor!”

Francis was a bit surprised but smiled gratefully as Demo climbed into his truck and drove back to the store. He hurried about his job too, wanting to get vegetables sliced and cut down to useful sizes.

When the Demoman returned, he had a several large packages. He bought paper towels, napkins, paper plates, plastic red cups and a slew of plastic silverware. They would need it all for guests that would probably stop by for food.

By the time Francis started setting things out on plates, prepping everything to be easily accessible, somebody had already arrived. They were not there to just eat a burger though. He was surprised to find that the Heavy Weapons Guy had shown up with a casserole.

After that, more people started coming, bringing more food to add to the meal. Casseroles, pies, salads, dinner rolls, mashed potatoes, several kinds of gravy, sliced beef, pork chops, and even an Asian type of noodle salad he did not know the name of. Somebody even brought out some tables to set the food on. There was nowhere to sit though, so everybody stood with plates, napkins and paper towels in hand, munching on food and talking together.

Francis was just trying to compliment a man on his pie, when he was absorbed into a conversation. He was not sure what they were talking about up until this point, but they seemed to be quite intrigued. They pulled him in, as if it were some secretive club meeting.

“Okay, hands down. Do you prefer American football? Or baseball?” one man asked him.

“Well,” Francis pushed back his wide brimmed hat to scratch at his scalp, “I’m not one for sports. I don’t watch any lately. I don’t partake neither. I think I’d have to say I’m more familiar with American football though.”

His admission was met with one laugh of victory and a few moans of despair. He looked around, confused by their reactions. They had asked for his honest opinion, so why were they acting like that?

“I told ya!” the Sniper who had laughed with glee declared, “I told the lot of you! Americans! They’re born and bred on the soil of that ideology.”

“No hold on just a second there man,” Francis started to scorn him, feeling just a little temperamental. He was cut off when a hand took his arm. His head spun around to see the Demoman pulling him aside, “What?”

He did not get to say more, as he was pulled from the group. The man pulled him aside in earnest, drawing him away from others. He seemed to have a worried look on his face, as if something might be going wrong.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know a bloody face here!” the Demoman declared.

“Well, you just got here, didn’t you?” Francis replied, with a soft chuckle.

“I’m stuck in a sea of strangers!” he turned to Francis with a pleading eye, “You gotta help me out here!”

“I guess if you stick with me, you’ll be fine,” Francis shrugged, but he was not too sure of himself.

“I gotta get to know somebody around here,” the Demoman pleaded.

“I don’t know a stone throw of this lot,” Francis shrugged again.

“Huh?” Demo gave him an absurdly confused look.

“The majority of these people are strangers to me,” he reiterated.

“You’ve got to know somebody here!” the Demoman protested, pleading with him in desperation.

“Alright,” Francis sighed and looked around. His eyes landed upon Dex, who was cooking at the barbeque. He could not help but smile, as he felt a warm little feeling in the thump of his heart. “Alright, I’ll introduce you to whom I know,” he took Demo’s arm and led him towards the group that Dex was talking to.

Dex was laughing at something that was said. He was having a grand time, being distracted and enjoying himself. He could really come out of his shell when he forgot to put a wall up. It was a good look on him, with that soft smile and those happy eyes. That look made Francis’ heart melt nowadays, and he would have it no other way.

“Hey! Got you a beer,” Dex gestured to Francis as he approached. He set down his open bottle and pulled a fresh one out of a six pack. “One of the boys brought it,” he popped the top off on a wooden edge of the barbeque’s work space, before handing it to Francis.

He smiled and accepted the drink. He quickly tipped it back to express his interest in joining in the social drinking. He felt safe drinking as long as he was with Dex anyways.

“Aye? And who’s this lot?” Demo roughly nudged Francis’ shoulder to get his attention.

“Beer?” Dex offered another cold bottle from the six pack to the Demoman.

“No thanks,” Demoman smiled gleefully as he pulled out a bottle of whiskey he bought from the store, “I brought my own.”

Dex nodded in understanding, then turned a questioning look to Francis. Francis chuckled as he patted Demo on the shoulder. He waited as the man took a moment to down a few gulps of his whiskey, as if to put emphasis on how much he liked his whiskey.

“This here’s Demo. We used to work on opposing teams,” Francis explained, “This here’s Dex.” Upon being gestured to, the Engineer sidled up beside Francis with a shy smile.

The Demo gave an unsightly belch that resulted in the whole group laughing. They all took drinks and gave their renditions of belches as well. Finally, the Demo turned his attention to Dex, “It’s good to meet you, lad. The name’s Filch!”

“Nice to meet you, Filch,” Dex offered his hand and the two shook in greeting.

Francis smiled, glad to see them getting along already. The party moved along nicely, following the same pleasant feel. Everybody was talking and laughing together. Everybody was enjoying food. Nobody was being pushed out or left out intentionally. It was all around a good time.

 

 

Francis was pleased with himself. The day went so well. It went better than they could have planned it. They had a fun fireworks display to watch. There were sparklers provided for people to play with. And the food was a big hit of an idea. After one person heard that they were cooking hamburgers and hotdogs, or that they were planning to, many people had decided to pitch in.

“You can’t go wrong, building a community,” Francis commented, with a smile on his face.

“What’s that?” Dex inquired.

Francis pulled off his boots and socks before inching his way into the bedding. It had been a long day today and the two of them were a little boozed up, now that the vehicles were parked. Dex had even gotten out of his comfort zone, drinking with people he did not know and talking like they were good friends. He was a jolly good friend to everyone he met, but never like the way he acted today.

“I’d like to think we could have a community here,” Francis explained.

“A community?” Dex chuckled, “You mean like…how a town is? With people? And jobs? And sharing stuff in common?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Francis scorned gently, “I know what you’re getting at. Honestly though, our time working here would be better spent and less of a hassle if we could make a community out of this lot.”

“This lot of mercenaries you mean? Killers?” Dex teased, chuckling all the while.

“Just let me have this,” Francis requested, as he settled into place in the bedding.

Dex followed suit, crawling in to sleep next to him. Some nights he slept here with him in the back of the truck. Other nights he slept in the room in the motel. They would have gotten a room together, but there were no rooms left. Maxwell certainly was not giving up his place, as he had no desire to ever sleep in the back of any vehicle ever.

“Alright, a community,” Dex nuzzled up against his side, “You think we’ll see it turning?”

“Like what?” Francis closed his eyes.

“You know…a lot of know nothings group together as a community and end up becoming a town?” Dex inquired.

“I thought this was already a town,” Francis nudged him playfully.

“You know what I mean,” Dex scoffed at him in protest.

“Yea, I sure do,” was the last thing he remembered saying. The drink really got to his head and he was very sleepy that night. He must have fallen asleep right after that.


	13. Maxwell's Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Maxwell has a visitor.

Oh boy was the night ever cold. Dooley gave a shiver against the cold night air as he slipped out from under the covers. He barely managed to move away without disturbing Frank too much. He seemed like he might wake, but then settled back down as the blanket settled on him.

He took a moment to admire that face. The tired look was still there, even as he was sleeping. Stubble had started to form that he would probably shave off in the morning. He wanted to admire it though, for now. Hair had tried to reclaim the scalp that had been bald for so long, but Frank kept that shaved back too, for the sake of his work. Something about consistency and being harassed by the director or something.

Dooley did not bother with Frank’s work too much. He had the job before they were together. It could make him jealous to think about it too hard, knowing that Frank had so many slutty women to have sex with. At the end of the day, tired or hungry or otherwise, Frank came lumbering back to him for the comforts of what he seemed to think as a luxury. The man treated him like he was the best thing ever. It was an ego boost for Dooley. He knew he paled by comparison. He hardly managed to get work either, having been hired once, interviewed another time and never called back.

He relied on Frank mostly, but Maxwell pitched him a buck here or there for helping keep him fed. He did not spend as much time with his friend as he used to. On some level he felt bad about it, knowing that Maxwell needed a friend always. At the same time, it was not so bad. Maxwell was a good looking man who got more calls than he cared to work for. He was choosey and often turned down good paying jobs. One director even harassed him, offering him bigger and bigger money in the hopes that it was a negotiation tactic. Maxwell did well enough for himself, and when he was not at work, he was most often hiding in his bed, pretending he did not want to speak to a soul in the world.

As he slipped from the tailgate to the pavement, he paused to let the sound of the truck’s groan die down. The softest snore came from the still sleeping man. He must have had dreams of fireworks and hotdogs still dancing in his head, after that glorious party sparked from a random idea that Frank had.

Dooley chuckled to himself as he made his way to the door of his and Maxwell’s room. He was thinking about Frank and what he was like. Maybe he thought about him too often. That did not mean he could not think about him now. He was a good man after all, with the kind of personality that he had always wanted in a man. He never quite hoped for somebody as handsome or strong though, that was just a bonus on top of it all. It made him feel a little weird, considering his lesser stature.

He paused at the door, giving his belly a pat. He had a bit more pudge than he used to, and he knew he had gotten soft in the arms and around the cheeks. Despite Frank’s protests, it always made Dooley feel a little paranoid. He was not really that good looking that any man that liked men would turn his head to look.

He shook the negative thoughts growing in his head, and unlocked the door. He moved slowly, not wanting to cause too much squeaking. He had made a sort of habit of this, sneaking in while Maxwell was asleep. Sometimes he would find that the man was awake at odd hours, unable to put himself to sleep. Other times he was snoring like a chainsaw while Dooley snuck into the warmth of the shower.

Today he just felt dirty. He had gotten a little tipsy at the party, and by the time they parked the trucks by the motel, he had gotten drunk with Frank. It was nice to get drunk when you were with somebody. It was a lot less like you were depressed drinking and more like you were just having a good time. It was easy to say you were having a good time, but when you’ve been surrounded by people and feeling only alone the whole time as many times as Dooley had, drinking became more of a depression routine.

He carefully held the door so that it did not click loudly when it shut. He was a bit unnerved that the room was so quiet, but he did not always expect Maxwell to snore like a chainsaw. He stepped carefully through the room, passing the ends of the two beds as he headed to the bathroom.

He flicked on the light so he could see better as he reached for the door knob to shut the door. A low groan caught him by surprise, causing him to flinch. He turned to look at the beds, where the light shone from the bathroom. It hit the back of Maxwell’s head, softly emphasizing the depths of his dark locks and how they transformed to a snowy gray and white at the wings. The light laid upon something else too. Dooley’s eyes could not catch what it was at first, completely confused by the contrast of light and dark.

“Turn the light down, will ya?” an arm rose out of the blankets, pushing them back a bit.

Dooley was so taken off guard that he was not sure what to think. Maxwell was not even asleep, as he burst into shivering giggles that he buried against the shirtless man in bed with him. The Demoman stretched his arm up, reaching towards the headboard, before settling back down under the covers. He wrapped an arm around Maxwell, whilst the man was muttering something to him.

“Sorry about that,” Dooley said, trying to pull himself back to reality.

Of course Maxwell could have his own men to court. He was a grown man of course. He had just never seen the Medic actually bring somebody to the motel room before. Most of his time was spent at work or moping.

He closed the door and stared at the edge of the white sink. He really wanted to walk over and get a closer look at the man. Oh God how embarrassing that would be, he would never just walk over there, knowing at least one of them was shirtless, and there was potential that they were both nude. They were hidden by covers yes, but there was that underlying assumption that they had been extremely intimate not long ago. Had Dooley interrupted them? He felt more embarrassed that he might have walked in while they were in the middle of something, and Maxwell stopped out of embarrassment.

He put his ear against the door and held his breath. It was a good few minutes before he made out the low voices. They were trying not to be heard by the roommate in the bathroom.

“He sleeps in the other bed. Lately not so much, since he sleeps in a truck with his…lover,” that last word was hesitant, as if not sure what to make of it.

The Demoman’s voice was quite crystal clear and did not have as much attempt to be quiet, “I think I startled him. I’m not supposed to be here, am I?”

“No no,” Maxwell insisted, “We’re only friends. We’ve never…no. We don’t do that. We’re only friends.”

“Friends who share a room,” the Demoman had this hesitance to him.

“Yes, friends can share a room,” Maxwell affirmed, his voice growing a little louder.

“I just don’t want to get anybody into no trouble,” the Demoman pressed, with a somber tone.

“You’re not getting anybody into any trouble!” Maxwell protested, “I promise.”

The Demoman mumbled something, before his voice raised again, “I wouldn’t care if you were married or nothing. I just don’t want to cause you no trouble.”

“And I’m telling you that there is no trouble,” Maxwell insisted, “I’m an adult sharing my bed with an adult. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

“The lad’s face had the look of somebody who just got bludgeoned in the face by his mother,” Demoman explained, “That’s some high level of shock.”

“Well…” Maxwell mumbled inaudibly for a moment, before his voice rose again, “I don’t bring many men to my bed. Maybe that’s what surprised him.”

Dooley nodded to himself with an amused grin. He wanted to open the door and assure the Demoman that everything was fine here. That would have revealed that he was listening to them though. He dared not embarrass Maxwell like that.

“I’m your first?” the Demoman asked.

Dooley held his breath again as things went silent. Maxwell did not seem to be answering the question. He was not sure why. He wished he could peek out and see what was happening.

“Yes,” Maxwell said breathily, “You are the first I’ve brought into my bed.” There was a long pause. Then there was an audible sigh. “You’re the first I’ve truly enjoyed in a long time,” Maxwell admitted, in a sort of fond tone.

Dooley backed away from the door. He could not help but grin to himself at what he had discovered. Maxwell had a fondness for somebody. Somebody had come into his life and he was going to have a good time with it. Good for him, he thought. The man was good looking, but only now had it paid off. Maxwell had been mourning loss for years, and it was time to lay that to rest and greet a new era.

He turned his attention to the shower. The water did not take long to turn hot and steamy. It was a relaxing relief after falling asleep out in the cold. Frank and his bed were warm, but once he climbed out of the covers, it was too cold for his liking. Then again, he had spent too many years in the desert down in Mexico.

Had things been different, he might never have met Frank. How strange that Maxwell’s choice to take this job had led them to this point. Had Maxwell never taken this job and Dooley never met Frank, then Maxwell would never have met this Demoman. They would have been estranged forever.

Perhaps they would have met by chance at some point. It was a rare chance, but still an existing one. Things would have been different though, much different from this. Being here in this town, most men knew if you looked at men, or looked at women, or both.

At this point, most people thought Frank liked both. Up until recent discussions, Frank had assumed the same of himself. He confided in Dooley that he felt that his lust for _Dex_ was a lot more than just the love they shared, he did not have the same enjoyment for women. He mostly just tolerated the work for the sake of working. It was much too late to pull out of whatever project the director had buried him in.

Dooley knew for a long time. He knew it when he was just a boy that boys were his thing. Girls could be nice and sweet, but they did not play like boys. A boy so sweet he could pluck your heartstrings and command your soul was the kind of man he dreamed of.

The secret affairs that existed in his mind as a young teen had died quickly with the coming of age that led to pressure towards marriage. A few incidences later and he was saddled as a mercenary. What was more, he was placed with some of the most dangerous men to ever harass a homosexual man.

This was a dangerous job. You worked as a killer, among other killers. They were willing to do awful things to people sometimes, in the name of money or just work. Some of them came from awful backgrounds that pushed them to this, some of them were just awful themselves. Either way, knowing that was enough to keep off the radars of some deadly hateful men.

He remembered how things used to be down in Mexico. When he joined his last crew, it had been the best team he had been with. The majority of them were tolerant if not somehow gay themselves. The Medic aside, a good deal of them were even congratulatory when they found out about each other’s likings.

That was not happenstance though, that was by Miss Pauling’s design. Why the trash-mouthed Nazi ended up in that group, he would never know. He barely understood how things worked in Mann Co anymore, considering she went from being off the payroll back to recruiting again. It was only a matter of time before the woman got herself killed.

Still, he wanted to thank her sometimes. That team had been a family to him. They had been supportive people, with a sort of family bond. Even some of the BLU team had become good friends that he would equate to brothers.

He would never forget the name Andrew Swanson. He was not sure now why he was so obsessed with him. He was not the kind of Soldier you would expect to stand out in any way. It was when you stuck around him to listen and learn his ways that you got a better idea of the sweetheart underneath it all.

Why had he been so convinced that Andrew was someone so precious that he had to be protected? Well, the man having some mental problems had some links to that. He often did not seem to know what was going on. Respawn had been a saving grace for him surely. If he had not been on respawn for so long, he would have likely died from an incident, due to some sort of bumbling.

He chuckled at that thought. He remembered back when Andrew showed up. He remembered how negative everybody had been about it. Surely they would get a better Soldier than the last, a very negative man going out for a positive one. They never expected a sweetheart with the heart of a true war veteran.

Then there were the Spies. He blushed when he remembered catching them for the first time. Their little affair had lasted before he met either of them, as they had met before moving to the teams they were assigned to. They were constantly apart, yet somehow inseparable, once you became aware. They were good enough at their job that almost nobody else knew that they were even interested in anybody, let alone each other. It was after the existence Dooley’s knowledge of their relationship that they began doing sneaky little meet ups around his sentry nest. He just sort of started tolerating the BLU Spy sneaking around him, just for the sake of letting him see his boyfriend during work hours.

Maurice and Bleu were both reasonable Spies. Maurizio never killed a man he did not have to. Bleu preferred to do things in the shadows where nobody could see him anyways. Both of them put together were a formidable pair. He remembered their love as something forbidden yet tasteful. There had been no malice behind it.

The day that Bleu turned on them was the day Dooley realized that love does not overcome all obstacles. Sometimes love does very stupid things, like Dooley himself had done. When Bleu tried to kill an innocent woman, for the sake of his job, for the sake of his secrets, and the blackmail they held on both him and his lover, the look on Maurice’s face had said it all. They had ended there, and that was the last that Dooley knew of it.

He wondered how the two of them were doing. No doubt Maurice was goofing off, making friends and building cars. He was probably the most fun Spy Dooley had ever known. Bleu was probably moping, not unlike Maxwell. His version of moping would probably lead him to stalking though, if he had yet to find something else to preoccupy him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He flinched, as he realized that he had been lost in thought for so long. He did not know how long he had been washing. He was just under the water now, scrubbing his armpits like they were the dirtiest things.

“Just a…just a minute!” he called to the door.

He turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He quickly wiped the excess water off, so that he would not drip everywhere. He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door. He was surprised to see a tired Francis standing at the door. He needed a moment to take this in.

“Could everybody just get out already!” Maxwell shouted. The Demoman broke into laughter, though Dooley could not see either of them through Frank.

“Who would have thought that these two would get along,” Frank offered a half-hearted smile.

“Uh…Frank?” he was standing there holding his towel, without access to his clothes.

“Yea?” Frank replied.

“What are you doing?” he inquired.

“Oh,” Frank glanced past him into the bathroom, “I have to pee.”

They shuffled around each other to switch places, before the door shut again. There were a few moments of silence. It was awkward to step through the darkness, knowing that there was some stranger in bed with Maxwell. At least he had full access to his clothes now and made use of his time digging for what he needed.

“Mind speeding it up, lad?” the Demoman asked.

A weird muffled noise came from the bed. When he glanced over, Dooley noticed that Max had buried his head under a pillow. The Demoman’s white teeth were easy to see in the dark, as he grinned playfully. He seemed to be embarrassing the hell out of Maxwell, and he was having a grand time of it too.

He gave a quick nod, ignoring the fact that the Demoman probably could not see it. He dug through his drawers and hastily got dressed in the dark. He was vaguely aware of the chance of being watched by this stranger. He was just not willing to run to the truck in a towel. He would rather risk it with one stranger than a countless number of strangers.

He was trying to button his shirt when Frank returned from the bathroom. He walked over and took Dooley’s hand before he could even finish.

“Come on,” Frank hastened him.

“I’m not finished dressing,” Dooley protested as his hand was pulled away from buttons.

“You’re fine,” Frank insisted, “Let’s just go.”

He huffed in frustration as he was dragged out of the room. Worse than being indecent was being underdressed for the weather. It was still cold out, since the sun had yet to rise. It would not warm up until its rays kissed the pavement. He shivered and dashed past Frank and leaped into the back of his lover’s truck. He quickly buried himself in blankets, eager to be away from the cold.

Frank was much slower. It was probably his sleepiness, as he did not make as much fuss. He crawled slowly into the blankets, and was nuzzling up against Dooley before he realized that Frank had not yet washed.

He shrugged it off with a sight. Such was life, or so he guessed. Sometimes things just do not happen the way you plan them. Sometimes you just have to let them happen the way that they do. After all, that was how he managed to run into Frank, wasn’t it?


	14. Maxwell's Stranger

Maxwell could not believe what he was dealing with. His head remained under the pillow, even after the door shut. The man beside him was chuckling, but his own body was burning with embarrassment.

“You’re not going to spend the rest of the night under the pillow, are you?” the Demoman said, rubbing a hand over Maxwell’s back.

That warm touch was inviting. He pulled his head out from under the pillow to look up at the Demoman’s warm smile. Such a welcoming visage that greeted him with a happy gaze.

“There you are,” the Demo greeted him, placing a warm hand on his cheek.

“You didn’t have to act that way when they were in here!” he protested, feeling a flush heat building in his face.

“No?” the Demoman gave him a perplexed look, “How else am I supposed to act? I think I did a right good job. Got Francis to leave. Your roommate went with him too. I was surprised. Didn’t know you actually had other men in your room.”

“They’re not-” heat built so strongly in his face that he could not stand it. He buried his face into the pillow, hoping he might suffocate there. “That’s my roommate’s lover.”

“Lover?” the Demoman turned a bit to look at the door, “Francis?”

Maxwell lifted his head again and nodded to him. The Demoman looked so confused by this information. He might as well have been explaining some complicated element of anatomy.

“But he’s with Sniper,” the Demoman protested.

“I don’t recall him being with a Sniper,” Maxwell said, dismissively, “But he has been with Dooley for months now.”

“Ah, whatever,” Demo decided to skip on that topic, “You gonna bury your face again?”

Maxwell shook his head slowly, “I’m not a child. Don’t talk down to me.”

“I ain’t trying to,” the Demoman suppressed a chuckle, “But you keep getting worked up. I can see why though. You haven’t had any men in here before so…I guess that makes sense.”

“Can we stop talking about that,” Maxwell huffed.

“Okay,” the Demoman looked over him, then gave him a smirk, “Less talking?”

Maxwell chuckled as he was pulled into a kiss. The man was a great kisser. A good talker too, despite his tones, he could put on a strong sex appeal when he wanted to. The man had been talking his way right into having more of Maxwell when Dooley came in.

“I could do with a little more of the sweet talking,” Maxwell insisted.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the Demoman put his lips to Maxwell’s ear, gently whispering. Normally whispering such sweet and dirty things would not get him all riled up this way. He was just sort of unaffected by dirty talk. But this man’s voice, teamed with his impeccable choice of words made Maxwell’s body tingle.

Most men could not even get his attention. Not a single one had ended up back in his room. It did not help that he did not often get asked by big men he would want to get in bed with. It was usually women who thought he was bisexual, or perhaps secretly heterosexual. What heterosexual man would want to work like that though? He certainly would not do work with women, not in a pornographic situation.

It must have been the drink. He reasoned that all night. The Demoman was not his type. He was not even within the same genome of his type. Something about the witty man with his secret seductive voice, that facial hair that tickled when they brushed against each other, those big hands that were strong yet soft, and the soft fuzz on his body. He enjoyed the man’s hair, running his fingers over his chest and feeling cheek against cheek. If he was in any mood to ruin this fun and be a bit logical, he would chock it all up to loneliness and a neediness that subverted his standards. He was not in any mood to ruin his own fun though. So, he rubbed his cheek against the other man’s cheek while his words tickled his ear.

He hummed at the attention, running his hands over the other man’s body. Fingers could not feel the pale hairline scars, but they got a very good feel of his muscles. Underneath clothing, he easily looked like an average man with an average body. The surprise of chiseled abs had been a welcome one, and continued to be one as he traced the muscles to his back.

He pulled on the Demoman’s back, pulling him close. He was warm, especially down low. He was already aroused by the situation.

Drawn to him, Max let those curious hands meander around his own body. One arm wrapped around him, resting underneath him in a way that was limiting, but he made it work as his hand stroked Max’s spine. His other hand went over him to cop a feel of his supple backside.

He knew it was supple because he kept it that way. Every day when Dooley was not around and there was nothing else that he could do, he would exercise. There was no telling when things could take a turn and require him to lug around some heavy weight for the sake of being a Medic.

Being a doctor seemed almost like a distant memory though. Actually doing any work was something that was long behind him. He did not even have access to supplies to do anything for people. If he wanted to help somebody, he would be hard pressed to get what he needed from a store or someplace. He did not really have anything on hand anymore.

Not to mention the work here. Here he was not really a Medic, not until he was being handed props for the sake of the movie. He was not sure why, but several directors were quite eager to see him start out in his full uniform, looking as pristine as the first day he started his job as a Medical Physician for Mann Co. The uniform was not real though, and it was made to be easily taken off or otherwise torn off. One time he was even asked to tear the front himself, exposing his chest to be marveled at by the camera.

He forgot what he was thinking of as a hand moved down to caress the sensitive skin of his thigh. His heart was quickening as the hand moved ever further. He reached down to grab his wrist. He did not want his hand there. There were other things he wanted to give attention to. He gave a thrust of his hips, rubbing against him.

“I need yours erect,” he corrected him in a low tone.

He released his wrist and reached further to touch the other man’s skin. He was not looking at what he was doing, so he felt around a bit, making his way through the course thick hair to the appendage already halfway to full size. He wrapped his hand around the base and stroked him, listening to the small grunts that came from his mouth as he enjoyed the attention.

“So, another ride, I take it?” the Demoman inquired through his panting.

“Another ride,” Maxwell affirmed.

He pushed the Demoman over as he reached for the nightstand where he left he lube. Its lid was off from the last time they had it. He took a glob and slathered it over the Demoman’s throbbing member. It caused him to shiver from the cold, looking like he might shake right out of his skin.

Demo laid onto his back as Maxwell moved over him. He straddled his thighs, sitting back on them as he massaged the lube over his length. He watched the man, who was watching him back. Both of them were eager to start, but neither of them willing to rush it.

When he was satisfied, he scooted forward and raised himself up on his knees. He reached beneath himself to grab hold of the messily lubed cock and guided it to its destination. Despite his satisfied smile, he still bit his lip as he slid it in. It was sizable and fit him beautifully.

He had been on rough rides, small rides, had large penises, and had endured plenty of strap ons, this felt like something else though. It was not the biggest he had ever taken before, but then again, the biggest was not to his liking. He also knew when to participate too, turning the Medic’s bouncing into an actual ride. He did not go overboard either, making it an enjoyable sensation that he could do all over again another day.

Sure he liked those times when things were so wild and out of control they broke him. He liked being fucked brainless. He enjoyed pretending to be in control while the man with the giant cock was truly holding him hostage. This was wonderful though, finding the healthy medium. He could already feel from the rhythm that he was setting that the Demoman was going to give him a good ride too.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. The other man began meeting his rhythm, matching him by thrusting upwards. Hands went to his thighs to help keep him balanced. He rested his hands over these hands, letting his mind get lost while he rode his dick. Possibly more helpful than just giving him a good fuck was allowing him the chance to unwind without cameras or crewmembers bothering him about form. He could just lose himself for the moment.

“That’s a beautiful sight,” his partner commented breathily.

He peeped an eye open curiously. The man beneath him was alternating between watching him ride his stick and closing his eyes to focus on the feel of it. He watched his face like this for a while. The Demoman did not even seem to notice that he was being watched. Perhaps it was that he did not mind somebody watching him. Perhaps he enjoyed such things.

Eventually, his eye meandered upwards to meet Maxwell’s gaze. They were silent, with just the sounds of their bodies between them. After just a few more thrusts, Demo grabbed onto his hips, as if holding on for dear life. He rested for the moment, as the other reached his peak. He felt disappointed at not reaching his own peak just yet. The Demoman momentarily caught his breath, before he started moving again. Maxwell smiled to himself as the stimulation resumed. He rolled his hips as the enjoyment resumed for him. At the very least, his partner was considerate, letting him use his body a little longer for stimulation. He did not require much time anyways, taking just a few more minutes to reach his peak and realize satisfaction.

He gave a pleased sigh before he dismounted, falling beside the other man. The Demoman was panting, raising his arms to allow his ribs room to expand as he breathed heavily. As Maxwell relaxed beside him, he relaxed his arms beside himself.

“Good for you?” the Demoman inquired, his eye catching the very poor light from the outdoor lamps.

“Ja,” Maxwell huffed tiredly, “Danke. It was good.”

The two of them nestled down into the blankets. It was warm and cozy, despite the wet film of sweat that had built on their bodies. The Demoman also clung to a delighted smile, apparently pleased with himself at the little venture. Two bouts in one night, who would have thought? Then again, Maxwell never thought he would ever bring any man into his bed to enjoy for his own sake ever again.

 

 

When Maxwell roused, it was to the movement of the stranger. He slowly opened his eyes to see the man stretching his body. The window let in the rays of the morning sun, letting it bask red against his skin. Max found his eyes falling upon his arm, as the sun created a warm color he could stare at, and drew his attention to an arm he wanted to touch. He lifted his hand and thought about reaching out to touch him, but he thought better of it.

The Demoman stood up and rubbed his back, apparently stiff and sore from the way he slept the night before. The mattress of this bed was certainly not very good for one’s back. It did not help that he had a bit of weight riding on him twice during the night. Granted, that weight did not land directly on his back during the gyration and bouncing.

He watched him curiously as he bent to grab his things. He watched him dress, eyes meandering over the curves of his back. The stark contrast of dark shadows made the contours seem deeper than they were, sharpening the appearance of his muscular form. He kind of wanted to reach up and run his fingers down the man’s back, inviting him back for another spin. Maybe this time to leave markings down his back.

He could not bring himself to make a sound. In fact, he pretended to still be asleep when the Demoman turned back around to look for his belt. He kept an eye slightly open, just enough to see what the Demoman was doing, but not enough to give away that he was awake.

The Demoman latched his belt and donned the rest of his attire. He turned around three extra times, looking around the area to see if there was anything he had forgotten. He must have been very sleepy and unsure if he had fully dressed himself. After he finished doing his turns, he walked to the door, pausing to look back at Maxwell again. When the door opened and closed again, Max let out a sigh.

He turned over to stare up at the ceiling. The night had been wonderful, but he wondered if it should just be like this, where they were strangers who would never speak of this again to anybody. They would just go on with life as life would be. They could just enjoy what they had and move on.

Some part of his mind was begging him to wisen up. He enjoyed the night’s fun. He enjoyed it so much that he wanted to beg for another night. That child-like need for more time to play was shaking him from the inside, pleading for just one more night.

He sighed at this thought. He was such an idiot. He had made sure that things in his work life in porn stayed very business-like and professional. Now he had gone and gotten himself entangled in a messy set of emotions regarding some stranger he met at a barbeque.

Then again, it was not all bad. It was not as if he had emotional attachments if the man disappeared. If he vanished, that would be it, just a stranger off to continue being a stranger. But if this continued for a while more, it would not be so bad to just enjoy the ride.

It was not such a bad idea to just hold on for a bit longer and enjoy the ride. He smiled to himself as he thought of this, wondering where he might see the Demoman next. If he did not skip town, maybe he would be hanging around the local supermarket. Then again, maybe he would start working here and things would either go from there or get intensely weird after that.


	15. Young, Smart and Intimidating

Another exhausting work day brought Francis to his knees. He was beat and just wanted to be done with this. He at least got to sit out for the next few scenes. He just sat nearby in blue jeans. One of the other men was in the scene, and he was pretending he knew what he was doing with two women on top of them. To Francis, the two ladies were kissing in pure rapture, more interested in each other than the man they were supposed to be pleasing.

He was just counting down the hours to when filming would finish. It did not seem like it was going to end anytime soon. He was stuck here at work, while not ten paces away behind a door, his lover was so close to him.

He wondered what they would do today. Maybe Dex would plan something. Maybe another picnic? Or a visit to someplace he heard about? Maybe they would just head down to the diner for dinner. Either way, he wanted some food soon, because his gut was starting to growl.

“Didn’t eat enough for lunch?” somebody asked him.

He looked up to see a young woman. She looked a lot more like a girl than a woman. Auburn hair was pulled back at one side with a dark barrette. Her eyes were marvelous rings of greenish blue. She had a crewman’s shirt on, but she did not look like she belonged. Sure a lot of them were unpaid interns just trying to make it through a month or two of service with the directors, but she looked too much like an innocent seventeen year old that had just graduated high school. She should be far from internships let alone graduation from college.

“I always look forward to dinner more than lunch,” he admitted.

“Got a favorite meal?” she asked, offering him a sweet smile.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “Good company.”

“Not much for lunch with your coworkers?” she asked, gesturing vaguely towards the pornstars and mercenaries in the room.

“I reckon not,” he admitted again with a frown, “We’re not close.”

“You don’t have to be close,” she shook her head.

“Hardly want to be around people I ain’t close to,” he shrugged. That was not entirely true. Most of it was just the attitude at work. Work was work and nobody was interested in trying to be fun or interesting at work, at least not at this work. “Ain’t nobody here got the energy to put in effort to make a social interaction for lunch.”

“Well, maybe somebody should,” she folded her arms over her chest, with this very optimistic tone in her voice.

“Good luck on that,” he gave her a nod.

“You’re not even going to try?” she gave him an earnest look.

“I rightly can’t be bothered to want to,” he shrugged.

“Well that’s just a bad attitude to have,” she protested, shaking her head.

“Don’t you have like…something to do? Maybe a chore your boss would give you?” he asked, with a concerned frown.

“Nah, I’m a paid intern. Not really related to my choice of study, but family relatives having friends like porn directors has its perks,” she informed him.

“I can imagine so,” he quirked an eyebrow, but did not indulge by asking her for more information.

“You really don’t want to know how I’m here?” she asked, as if disappointed that he was not questioning her.

“Not really,” he shrugged, “You look to me like a kid who should be in school though. Ain’t you geared up for college?”

She shrugged, “Technically I’m in college. It’s summer break. Got an internship. Finishes up in August. I’ll go back and finish my last few terms.”

“You look mighty young to be doing an internship already,” he pressed.

“Again, family friend,” she explained.

“Again, you’re young,” he pressed.

“I graduated high school early,” she said, in a very proud tone.

He did not bat an eye at that, “So did I.”

She was a little surprised at that, “I was valedictorian in my senior year, two months before my sixteenth birthday.”

“How old are you now?” he inquired.

She grinned proudly, “Twenty one. Old enough to drink.”

“Then that’s old enough to do the math when somebody who’s been doing a whole lot of work for a whole lot of years tells you he graduated college at sixteen,” he informed her.

She frowned at that, somehow taken aback. This was not as much fun as she would have liked. This was not what she was hoping. She was hoping that he would be impressed by her feats. Sure, they were impressive, but having graduated early was no reason to be working with pornography. A brilliant mind like that belonged in the leagues of scientific fields, not wasted in this area.

“Take it from somebody who’s seen the ropes,” he insisted, “Your potential is wasted here.”

“You can’t tell me that,” she said defiantly.

“And why not?” he asked, a little confused at her. It was absurd to say that somebody could not say something to them, when they had already said it.

“Because I am my own person and I decide where my potential goes,” she told him sternly.

“Well excuse me miss,” he rose from his seat and took a step away, “You’re the one sparking an interest in conversing. I suggest you find somebody else to cop an attitude with.”

“You don’t have to be such an asshole,” she declared.

He bit his tongue. He was better than that. He might be from a different era, but he would not stoop to such levels of talking. He raised his chin a bit, refusing to give an immediate and equal response to her.

“I am not acquainted to talking down to a stranger like you do, ma’am,” he told her sternly.

“Where do you get off calling me a ma’am?” she asked stiffly, her rage flaring, “What if I’m a boy?”

“Then I’d tip my hat in apology and move on,” he told her sternly, “If I were you, I would move on.”

“I don’t have to!” she declared, a bit angrily.

“Then I’ll be moving on myself, thank you,” he gave a tip of his hat bitterly, before moving around the cameras to distance himself from her.

“Asshole,” he heard her mutter bitterly.

He hurried to move away from her, growing more and more frustrated. He was so busy grinding his teeth over the conversation that he tripped over somebody. Small soft hands grabbed his arm to pull him back onto his feet.

“Sorry! I’m so- I’m so sorry!” the girl exclaimed, as if pleading for forgiveness on her knees.

“It’s fine,” he said as he straightened up. He checked to make sure there was no dirt on his front, before looking at her. She must have been about the same age as the other girl. The difference was the pink flower barrette and the messy curly black hair.

“I am so sorry though,” she said in an earnest tone, “Can I- can I get you something? Food or coffee or something?”

“No no, I’m fine,” he assured her.

She chuckled nervously, “This is only- only my first day on the job. It’s not…well…you- you know…I’m just trying to do-trying to do a good job.”

He gave her a smile, feeling glad to see a stark contrast in attitudes. He tilted his hat with his thumb and two fingers, “You’re doing just fine miss. Name’s Francis.”

“J-Julie,” she stumbled, “Oh God!” She put her hands to her mouth.

He raised a questioning eyebrow at that. She looked at him with the most repose expression. He might as well have been the most repulsive thing she had ever seen at the sudden concern for what she said.

“Are you alright miss?” he asked hesitantly.

“I…I didn’t- I didn’t mean…” she was fully flushed in the face.

“Mr. McKragen? You’re up,” somebody called.

“Alright!” Francis nodded, as quite a few sets of eyes came to him. He paused, turning to the young woman. “Excuse me ma’am, I have work to do.”

She nodded wordlessly. Her expression was pale with horror. He tried to ignore it so that he could get to work. It just felt awkward taking off his pants now.

 

 

When the day’s filming was over, he immediately made a beeline from the front door to his truck. He would change into something a bit more decent and maybe throw on something that smelled good. Dex was no doubt ready with whatever plans he had for their day.

“Mr. Francis? Er…Mr. McKragen? I mean…” he was caught midstep by the hesitant voice behind him. He turned around to see the two young women side by side. The auburn tart was standing back a bit, with her arms folded over her chest. The other girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. “May- may I have- may I have a moment of your time?” she pleaded.

“Don’t waste your breath,” the other girl jeered, “It won’t work. He’s just a jerk.”

He gave her an irritated glare. There was no point in reasoning with her, he reminded himself. Still, he was not happy with her lies. He turned his attention back to the pink barrette girl and softened his expression.

“I um…I slipped back there,” she informed him, “I didn’t mean to- mean to give my name.”

“What’s your name then?” the ill-tempered girl teased.

Francis shook his head, “What’s this about?”

“Could you…maybe…we could- we could just keep- keep this between you and…and…between you and me?” she stumbled, fingers fidgeting with a trinket.

He nodded slowly, “Sure thing.”

“It’s just- it’s just…I just…my name is- my- my name is not important. I just want- I just- I just want to be careful. I don’t- I don’t want people to- to know that I worked with- worked with porn- pornographers,” the girl managed to complete what she was saying with some effort. She seemed to be more flustered because of her worry more than anything.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” the tart girl rolled her eyes.

“No off- no offense- no offense,” the sweet girl stammered out. Her face was almost entirely red now.

“It’s no trouble,” he dismissed her worries, “I won’t tell a soul. I understand. You’re just a kid anyways. Nobody should associate you to whatever job you had when you’re a kid.”

The tarty girl took her turn to butt in with a scoff, “We’re not kids.”

“Pardon?” he raised an eyebrow to her, despite his better judgment not to engage with her.

“I’m twenty one and she’s twenty. We are not kids,” the girl replied, keeping her arms solidly over her chest.

He rolled his eyes, “Look at this from the perspective of relativity. By all means, you’re still young. By my count, you’ve barely come to terms with being an adult.”

“I pay bills and take care of myself,” the brunette remarked snarkily.

“We both- we both take care of ourselves,” the sweet girl nodded her agreement.

Hearing this from the calmer sweeter of the two, he realized that he was coming off a little crass. He decided to reinvent his approach, “I don’t mean you any offense, ladies. I’m trying to say that you’re both still very young. Mature and capable sure. You’ll have to live with the curse of your peers though. Nobody older than you will take you seriously, not for a long time. Even then, in your older years, it’s a stone’s throw from what respect you deserve. Getting a respectable job at this age is not going to be easy, so whatever you manage to get to take care of yourselves should not be something anybody passes harsh judgment on.”

“That’s very nice of you,” the dark curls shifted around the pink flower barrette as the girl smiled at him.

He smiled, offering the grin to them both. At the end of the day there was no need to be irritated or cranky. In fact, he was happy to be off work and heading off to whatever plans Dex had for them.

“Bye then,” the sweet girl said.

“Yea bye,” the tart girl added, as if as an after thought.

“See you ladies,” he headed to his truck and began digging through his things. He could not help feel weirdly distracted that they were still over by the door, talking. They could see him out here, digging through clothes like a hobo. “Ah hell,” he muttered to himself.

He grabbed a handful of things he needed a hurried over to Dexter and Maxwell’s motel room. He banged on the door and was glad to find that it was unlocked. He hurried inside and past the Medic who was questioning him halfway through the room.

“Can’t talk. Need a shower,” he said as he pushed past Dexter as well.

He did not want to explain what was going on to him. He did not even understand what was going on. It was just a couple of young women outside, so what? He did not know what it was that compelled him to get inside and out of sight. Whatever it was, it would send him into a shower and he could clean up for Dex’s plans.

While in the shower he tried to calculate just how great a fool he was. He was pretty idiotic to change up what he did, just so they would not see. Then again, they were sort of the norm of society nowadays. What they see here is what they’ll take back with them to normal social realms. Whether he wanted to be remembered as a homeless person or not came up for debate, with strong votes in his mind for not being seen as a hobo.

A small knock came at the door and it opened slightly. “Hey Frank?” Dexter’s voice came timidly through the crack in the door.

“Come in,” he called, as he rubbed soapy suds over his body.

Dex stepped into the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind him. His eyes almost immediately wandered. Francis shivered as he remembered the weird feeling of being watched.

“You uh…” Dex finally spoke, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Francis asked, wishing Dex would avert his gaze for a bit.

“Um…what’s bothering you?” Dex inquired, with a small gesture of his hand towards Francis.

Francis shrugged, “It’s nothing to talk about.”

“Did something happen at work?” Dex asked.

“No,” Francis shook his head. It was true, nothing spectacular had happened. Then again, he realized that it was untrue in that he met Julie and her snide peer.

“Okay,” Dex nodded. He looked like he was thinking about something.

“Why? Is something on your mind?” Francis asked, hastily.

“Well, just that you seem a bit off at the moment,” Dexter explained. He sidled up closer to the shower, “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” Francis insisted, as he rinsed away the soap.

“You sure?” Dex gave him a worried frown.

Francis nodded, “I’m sure. Just let me get washed up. I just feel dirty. That’s all.”

“Alright,” Dex gave him one last glance before making his way out of the bathroom.

Francis sighed. He lied to Dex. It was a small and harmless lie, but it was a lie nonetheless. He did not like the idea of lying to his…boyfriend? Is that what one would call him? A boyfriend? He was not sure if they were that, or if that would weird Dex out.

Once he was dressed, he started forming a plan in his head. He made his way out and met Dex by the bed. Dex smiled back at him, but did not seem like he was in a hurry to go anywhere.

“If it’s alright with you…” Dex started off slowly, “I thought we could just spend the day here in the room.”

Francis did a quick glance around. He was relieved yet curious to find that the Medic was not around. The Medic was usually here. He did not seem to go many places, but that was just Francis’ perspective. Maybe he had a fairly social life outside of what other people saw.

“Maxwell’s out for the evening,” he explained, “Has somewhere he wants to be. He won’t be back until very late into the night. I suppose that gives us all the time we could want.” Dex’s smile was cute and inviting.

“What are we going to do in that time?” Francis’ voice was hesitant as he sat down next to Dex.

The other man took his hand, “I thought we could just…lay down for a while? Relax? Enjoy the quiet.”

“That sounds nice,” Francis nodded.

Dex playfully popped off the top button of Francis’ shirt. He gave Dex a curious look, not sure how to read the gesture. It was playful, but he was not sure if it meant anything else as well.

“Kick your boots off,” Dexter insisted, “Let’s lay down.”

Francis did as he was told and set his boots aside in an orderly manner. A pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him down onto the bed. He turned and nestled into the body nuzzling him as they wriggled on top of the blankets. It was too warm inside the room for blankets, so they did not bother to get under them.

There was an audible sigh that they shared. Francis closed his eyes and let the feeling of exhaustion kick back into the forefront of his thoughts. He was ready to fall asleep.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Dex said softly.

“Hmm?” Francis forced his eyes open, fighting the newfound sleepiness that was overcoming his mind.

“If you ever want to talk about something, that is,” Dexter backpedaled a bit, “If you need to talk? You can talk to me. I’ll listen. Whatever it is.”

Francis chuckled and shut his eyes. He squeezed the other man’s body affectionately. “I know Dex,” he said in a soft whisper, “I know.”


	16. Misery in Pornography

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to violence and sexual non-con (discussed not depicted)

The night was dark. The summer rain pattered against the roof. The awakening howls of wild dogs called the Sniper to full awakeness. Why though, he could not say. He could normally sleep through any old animal noises, it was people noises that usually got him.

Then again, his dream had been full of people. The noises they made were rather awful too. He did not want to think about them too much. The feeling of being driven farther and farther away was disheartening.

The more he thought about it, the more he knew just how far it was pushing him. There was nobody he could talk to here. There was nobody he could spend time with. In the past six months, the most social contact he had had with people involved no clothing and disconcerting actions.

He turned onto his side and clung to the blanket on top of him. He listened quietly to the distant howl of a dog calling to other dogs. It was quite peaceful and welcoming. It made him think about walking outside where he could get a better listen to them.

He looked at the window. He could not see much through it. It was very dark outside. He could barely make out some of the outlines of the other trucks parked here, a lot of them were smaller than his, so he could see farther. Still, it did not bring him any comfort. Worse, he knew that one of those trucks could be Francis’ truck.

He knew Francis was a resourceful man. If it was raining outside, he would put a tarp over his bed to keep dry. Still, that would not keep away all of the moisture and there is always a chance of getting water on the bed. Tarps ware not that reliable to hold water.

Maybe a second tarp would help. If one tarp faltered, having another big tarp to double the protection always helped. At least, it did in his memory. He thought about grabbing the tarp from the storage.

He discouraged himself when he remembered that Francis had a truck. There was a cab where he could sleep over the seats. He would have moved his bed inside to get out of the rain if a tarp was not working.

He tried to push the man out of his mind. He was not somebody he could worry about anymore. Francis made that very clear the last time they spoke. The Sniper barely had a chance to get in a single word in the exchange, as he remembered it. It was just Francis having a temper and refusing to be a part of their relationship anymore.

He felt small, especially when he thought about it. Francis just cut him out of his life, like a weed cut from the garden. An insignificant piece of life that should not have been where it had grown.

Still, he wondered if Francis still thought about him. He wondered if there was anything from the past that he missed, like he did. He missed the old base, and living out in his camper there. Even if it got uncomfortable in his truck, he could always go sleep in a bed in the base.

Back then, Francis used to come to his truck and pull out the chair. They used to sit and the Sniper would listen to him talk for hours. He told him about his family, his dreams, and how far he had come. He told him about how it felt to build things, and even the things he wished he had not given up on.

He remembered all of those things too. He thought about how the Engineer would take his hand and squeeze it. He remembered how he’s stand up on tip toes to kiss his lips.

He tried to remember how many times they had kissed. There had not been many times at all. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had not kissed since that day Francis came to him, finally alive and human, while the Sniper was kicking his own ass for being so stupid.

Francis had been the doll. That little pocket mercenary had been the real Francis all along. After having mourned him and dealt with the tragedy of his death the first time, he had to recover and realize that he was well again. It must have been a year before he felt well again, like he was not still mourning the loss. It did not magically disappear when Francis kissed him, but that helped. It helped to know that he was loved, and it helped to know he was forgiven.

Why was he cut loose this time though? Francis was a good man. He was kind and generally affectionate. He looked out for his friends and especially the Sniper. He even went so far as to let him linger around his nest without chasing him out, like he might to Scout or the Demoman.

They had something special once. Now it just sort of sizzled out and died. He was left to his fate in this stupid job that he took chasing him. Why had he chased Francis in the first place?

He loathed that thought. The aching rage built up and unleashed upon his mind. It lashed so hard that he felt a lump in his throat so thick that it hurt. He swallowed the pain, determined not to show it, even in the din of his own solitude.

Francis was the one who chose this job. He knew why he chose it too, to selflessly give the other job to Scout. At least, that is the way it would seem. Scout, the BLU Scout and that BLU Sniper were unaffected by the Engineer taking the job. Francis knew very well what he was doing when he did it. He wanted the Sniper to give up on the job he chose, to chase him into this hell hole, to give it up to the BLU Sniper.

He did it for his pal the Scout. He did it for his pals on BLU. He thought about everybody but the RED Sniper.

Here he was now. Alone and cut loose. Filthy in his thoughts and trapped in this creepy place.

He tried reaching out for another job. Miss Pauling was a hard woman to get a hold of. He quickly learned that this was not the type of place that mercenaries walked away from. It had only started recently, but those who wanted out fast were now trapped like flies.

The sickly feeling of being caught in this made him crawl out of bed. It was late and he should sleep some more before he had to go do something for work again, but he could not stay in bed. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around himself, sitting down on his couch.

He sat there, wide awake and somewhat terrified. He was in a pit of trouble and there was no way out. In the late morning, he would go into the auction house to sign in for yet another shooting that they requested him for. He would have to pretend again that he was not in a bad place. He would pretend again that he was okay with what was happening.

He hugged the blanket around him tighter. It was the closest thing to an embrace he had. It was all that he could afford without finding some skank for hire.

There were a lot of those now. They were not often seen around town. They had a place late at night to be, either hiding in some building that men came to visit them in, or out on the corner where men could find them lurking.

He huffed a loud sigh. His body was so tired, yet so awake at the same time. There was no way he could go to sleep, but he needed it so badly.

He reasoned that just as he could not sleep, he could not judge those ladies of the night. Whatever reasons they had were their own. He was no better anyways. He was probably seeing what they did behind closed doors. Used, belittled and spat on like dogs.

 

 

He must have been like this for hours. He thought about everything he could, until the morning came and he realized that he was still there. He forgot everything he had been thinking about. He tried to remember what he had last been thinking of, but that escaped him too. All he could remember was that he was here, instead of in bed.

He put the blanket away and got dressed. He would need clothes if he wanted to go outside, after all. When he did step outside, the wet air caught him by surprise as it mixed with the warmth of summer. Ah yes, he recalled the night’s rain pattering against the roof. That had not been what kept him up though.

He stepped out of his camper and stretched. The sun was out, trying to force its way through the clouds. It was late morning already.

No need for breakfast. He figured if he ate before work, he would only get sick. It would allow his belly to actually give him something to throw up, instead of allowing him to choke it back down.

He left the campsite behind himself, making his way between the rows of trucks towards the auction house. No point in dawdling, after all. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could try to forget.

His stomach growled as he opened the old half eaten wood door to the auction house. It was too late to regret not eating now. He would just have to deal with whatever came to him first. He could eat a large lunch later.

He approached the sign in table, signed his name by his print name to show that he was in attendance. Then he made his way over to the pew, taking a seat on the benches. He rested his elbows on his thighs, leaning over his knees as he folded his hands together. He was the first one of the men hired for the session, so he would have a chance to get a good look at them as they came in today.

First lumbered in a grizzled Heavy Weapons Guy. He looked as tired as the Sniper felt. He fumbled over writing his name, then hurried to sit down somewhere. The sheer weight of his big body caused the bench to creak.

Then came a Medic, looking stiff and wary. His eyes jolted everywhere, trying to take in everything and everyone with distrust. There was something very shifty about him. He signed his name and placed himself at the higher seats, out of sight of the two men who had already signed in. Of course, he could be getting a better view of what was being recorded in the ring.

The ring was like another room to the Sniper though. The only thing barring him from it were the old ropes, hanging from when it was used for its original purpose. He did not look into it as an audience member might, where many a farmer probably bought cows, goats and pigs in the past. Now it was being used by cameramen, who tried to get as many good angles as they could at what looked like naked wrestling.

His attention was pulled away as the door opened again. A teetering off his feet Demoman and a cheery Soldier he was leaning on came marching in. They looked like they knew each other, probably pals from their old base. That seemed a bit odd, since the Soldier wore blue, while the Demoman wore red. Well, that was not so strange in regards to his own base, but it was a huge coincidence that other bases might have had such agreements as his own workplace had seen.

Before they were even finished signing in, a Scout burst through the door. He looked mad, yet cocky in his own way. He had this meanness to him, like a gritty determination. He looked like he was on a mission already, and he was set out to do it, which meant he was going to shove through the Soldier and Demoman pair to sign his name on the sheet.

The three put up a fuss. The Soldier was the loudest of the three. The Demoman was the most confused, bewildered by the conflict. The Scout was the biggest protester, throwing rude gestures at the two of them as he forced his way through.

The struggle was so loud and obnoxious, that he almost did not even notice the other three people enter. There was a Pyro, fully clad in BLU attire, who had brought an axe sheathed on his back. There was an Engineer, fully clad in blue, with the yellow helmet atop his head and goggles hiding his eyes. Then there was a Spy dressed in a prim and pressed blue suit.

He regarded each of them curiously. The masked mercenaries were not the types to take any clothes off. They certainly were not the kind of men who would take off their pants for anyone. He always assumed a Spy could seduce a woman into doing whatever he wanted, though he was not sure what a gay Spy would be capable of doing.

The Spy caught his eye and quirked an eyebrow. He jerked his head in greeting. He was surprised when the Spy did the same.

He averted his gaze, glancing over to the table, where the Engineer and Pyro were sorting out the fuss. The Pyro’s axe was threat enough to make anybody back away. The Engineer used his words to reason with them that they did not want to keep making this fuss.

He did not use his words like Francis did though. Francis knew how to handle people. He was kind and patient. He was good to people as he listened to them.

This Engineer was none of those qualities. He put his words to work along with the Pyro’s axe. They were apparently part of the same team, working together to keep a semblance of peace. The Sniper shuddered, glad that he was nowhere near that axe blade. He did not want to be a part of what they thought was peace.

Each man found a separate area to sit in. The Engineer and Pyro sat together, but most of the others spread out. He noticed that the Spy sat near him, somewhere behind him. He snuck a glance back to see the man was lighting a cigarette, but had his keen blue eyes on the Sniper’s back. His lip twitched in a smile around his cigarette before the Sniper turned back around.

He tried to think of something else in the meantime. He wanted to think of anything else right now. He was getting a sneaking suspicion of what was going to happen when it was their session. Already the previous session was cleaning up. The crew cleared out the shavings used to cushion the floor, as they were partly there to soak up bodily juices.

When he heard his name called, he got up and slowly walked over to the crewmember calling out names. Every man who had signed in was assembled here, ready to do their job. Sniper was not as determined as them, tucking his hands into his pockets and wishing away the thumping of his heart speeding up.

“Alright Scout, you’re bottom,” the crewmember said.

Sniper remained quiet. It would come soon. They would tell him his place too. He could hear the Engineer Snickering and the Pyro saying something muffled.

“What does that mean?” Scout asked.

More snickering answered him. Nobody actually told him what he would be doing.

“In this scene, Scout’s going to be running. Pyro and Engie, you’re going to catch him,” the crewmember gestured to the Enginer and Pyro.

“Can do,” the Engineer grinned. The gleam of light on the lenses of his goggles was eerie. The Pyro gave a muffled giggle that in context felt maniacle.

“Then Heavy will come in from around the corner,” the crewmember pointed, “We’ll have Medic follow. Then Spy and Sniper. Understood?” The crewmember looked up from their clipboard at the men around them.

There was a bit of nodding around him, but Sniper did not speak. He was trying to puzzle out where that put him. His class had been named somewhere in there, but it had not been made evident. What was he supposed to be doing?

“Great. Perfect,” the crewmember started to leave, before the Sniper caught him. He glanced back at the others before confronting the Sniper, “Can I help you?”

“What position does that leave the rest of us?” Sniper lowered his voice.

“Tops,” the crewmember answered, “Scout’s bottom. You’re tops.”

“I believe the Sniper is a little more concerned with a deeper explanation as to what we are doing,” the Medic interrupted.

The crewmember hesitated, gently pulling away from the Sniper before he answered, “There’ll be somebody by to explain the plot to each of you. Scout, you’re getting coached first.”

“Okay,” Scout sounded irritated at this, throwing up his arms in exasperation, “Nobody’s telling me what the fuck it means, but okay.”

There was silence as the crewmember walked away, leaving them to their own devices. When the person was gone, he heard the Medic sigh audibly. The Scout scoffed and turned to the others.

“Okay, is somebody going to tell me?” he demanded.

“This is going to be a violent scene,” the Medic said.

“He didn’t say anything about violence,” Scout protested.

“He didn’t have to,” the Engineer replied, grinning keenly, “It’s implied. Read between the lines there.”

“It does not have to get violent,” the Heavy argued, “Can be simple.”

“They asked Pyro to bring an axe for something,” the Engineer gestured to his pal’s weapon.

“Whoa, whoa!” Scout raised his hands defensively, “Look, don’t bring weapons into the bedroom. That’s like a no!”

“Scout,” the Medic sounded like he was fed up already, “We’re not the ones who decide how it plays out. The director does.”

“Why does the director get to decide?” the Scout asked.

“Because you signed off on doing this scene,” the Medic said sternly, “You were briefed on this at the beginning of the job. When you signed up? There was a brief bit about agreeing to displaying non-consensual scenes. Did you or did you not say you agreed to that?”

“I didn’t agree to that,” the Sniper muttered.

There was a moment of silence. They had heard him. Damn he felt stupid. He wished he could shrink. That was impossible, given his height. He stood out like a flamingo amidst pigeons.

“I uh…maybe I didn’t…quite understand what that meant?” Scout shrugged, “I don’t wanna rape somebody or nothing.”

“You ain’t gonna rape anybody, son,” the Engineer said, still holding onto that creepy grin.

“Nobody’s actually going to rape anybody,” the Medic spoke up with sternness in his tone.

“If you’re not comfortable with it, just tell the director you are out,” the Spy said.

“You can do that?” the Engineer suddenly lost his smile. Somehow that felt like a win in Sniper’s book.

“Yes,” the Spy said sternly, “They cannot force you to do any of these things. You can walk away and work with another director.”

“Well I mean…I’m not against it…yet,” Scout said hesitantly. There was a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. “I mean, nobody has told me what’s really going to happen.”

“That’s what I’m here for!” a man cut into the conversation. He was another crewmember, and he had appeared out of nowhere from the Sniper’s perspective.

He stepped into the small circle that had sort of formed. It was more of a conglomerate of people. The shape was not uniform, and it was mostly based off of people standing close to whoever seemed safest. For Medic, that seemed to mean keeping everybody at a distance.

“Alright,” the crewmember pulled Scout along, “We’re gonna film in this hall, so Scout, you’re going to run in. Run like you’re on a mission. Engineer is going to slam you into the wall and catch you.”

The Scout shot the Engineer a wary look. The Engineer returned it with his eerie grin. Perhaps the kid was starting to get what was going on.

“Don’t actually use the axe for anything,” the crewmember warned the Pyro, “I’m not sure why they didn’t just get a prop axe for this. It’s just supposed to make Pyro scary. Look terrified when you see it, like he is going to use it on you.” They gestured from the axe to the Scout.

“Okay, I’m following you so far,” Scout nodded.


	17. Uncomfortable Scene

Francis’ mind was on the clock when he was yelled at. That was the fourth time today. He was so distracted that he could not focus, and it was affecting his work. No wonder the man was yelling too, it was giving everybody a hard time to keep going. He sighed as he and the other actress repositioned themselves to restart the scene. This time though, the director had other ideas.

“We’re going to try something different with this scene,” the director said, “Dolores, you’re going to come at him hard with a round kick. Instead of the scene where you seduce the Engineer, he’s going to pin you.”

“I’m following you,” Dolores said, brushing back her wavy red hair. It had become a mess during their previous activities.

“Engineer, you take it from there,” he explained, “Hold her down. Make it look like a real struggle. Got it Dolores.”

“Struggle hard. Yup, I got it,” Dolores nodded and gave him an okay sign with her fingers.

“Got it, Engineer?” the director turned to Francis.

“I um…I got it,” he nodded, confused by the changes. Why change things? The previous scene was alright, it was just taking Dolores a lot to make the fighting look real.

Dolores finished fixing her hair before the director called for them to start. Francis was looking at the man when a foot came out of nowhere. Unprepared and apropos of nothing, he was flung to the side and hit the ground. He was more stunned by the bare foot coming at him and the floor hurt more than the impact of the foot.

Laying on the floor like that, he pondered where he went wrong. He should have been paying attention when the director called action. He had known what she was going for. He also knew what she was capable of. After all of that coaching to get her to actually follow through with a hit must have done her well, because she actually managed to knock him down with the sheer surprise of that kick.

He felt her hand on his shoulder as he slowly started getting up. She was checking to see if he was alright. He was already grinning and chuckling.

“Oh my gosh! Are you alright?” she asked with concern.

“Yea, don’t worry,” he insisted, still chuckling, “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t hurt you bad, did I?” she asked him.

“No no,” he insisted, raising to his knees. A couple of crewmembers were there too, but she looked the most concerned, so he focused on her. “Caught me by surprise with that! You followed through too. Good shot!”

The director sighed with relief, “You alright to do the scene?”

“Yea,” Francis raised a hand. He could not stop grinning, quite proud of Dolores’ kick.

“Let’s start again,” the director said, sitting back in his seat.

A crewmember helped him to his feet and he turned to face Dolores again. He kept his eyes on her, ready to not be taken off guard again. He waited for the call to action, and then ducked in time to be missed by her foot. He leaped forward and grabbed her arms, pulling her off balance. She kicked and struggled, making it look real enough when they were fighting. However, to make it real he would have to shove her to the ground, but he was now holding her off of the ground, keeping her from falling.

“Cut!” the director called, “Dolores lay on your back with your hands above your head. Camera, let’s get a close up shot of him on top.”

Francis helped Dolores get her balance. He watched as she laid down, then hesitantly climbed over her. He stared down at her and she stared back. They probably both felt so awkward as a camera panned around them.

“Engineer, push a kiss. Dolores look scared! You’re vulnerable and he is hostile,” the director instructed.

Dolores’ attempt at looking scared was with wide eyes. The expression was comical and Francis had a hard time not laughing. He was suppressing laughter so hard that it started to hurt.

“Push a kiss on her,” the director hissed.

Francis hesitated, feeling awkward. The scene was bizarre to call for this behavior.

He pressed against Dolores’ lips and found that she was welcoming enough. She focused on wriggling, which was making it hard for him to focus on kissing her. He had to focus on everything, including staying balanced over her.

“Take her,” the director said low, “Dolores, more fighting.”

Dolores tried her best to struggle. It definitely made it harder for Francis to get both of her wrists into one hand. He needed his other hand to push her legs apart and position himself. She was helpful at first, then started kicking, digging her heels into him to make it look like she was trying to fend him off.

“Harder Dolores!” the director said quietly.

Dolores thrashed as she pretended to try and escape. Her hips bucked up and she got a better grip on his back. She kicked, digging her heels into him like she meant to hurt his rump. Again, she seemed rather clueless as to how to actually defend herself, especially in this vulnerable position. After the director got mad at him for interrupting a tack during the fake boxing scene, he decided not to correct her and let her kick and buck all she wanted.

“Engineer, that’s your cue,” the director said in a low voice.

He obeyed, taking a hold of his member to position himself. He pushed into her with a thrust. The timing was almost perfect, as she was thrashing upward. He pushed his hips down, pinning her hips. She began working with him instead of against him, moving her hips to make the work less intensive and increasing the overall movement.

He backed up a bit, letting the camera get a closer view of the action. He then doubled down, thrusting hard and fast. He was so focused on what he was doing there that he forgot about the kiss. Dolores was tilting her head back and writhing while he was trying to focus on what he was doing.

While Dolores was not good at fighting, she was definitely good at acting. The subpar feeling between them was easily masked by this woman’s wanton behavior. For however long it lasted, it began to fool even him for a moment, though perhaps that was just his need for an ego boost.

He reached down with his free hand, rubbing her clitoris. She began rocking into the sensation in a needy manner. Masked or not, she did want to be stroked there.

She let out sensational moans and even began to quietly beg, pretending to be enthralled. If he was not somewhat disconnected from this moment, he would have bought it. If it had been perhaps Dooley whining that to him, he would have fully bought that he was an amazing lover.

He came to his peak before she did. He doubled down, pressing on. It was a struggle to keep himself going, feeling so overwhelmed and overstimulated.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she finally reached something resembling a peak. He needed a break and he needed to get off this woman. He needed his personal space. He needed a chair in the corner and for everybody to just fuck off for an hour.

 

 

The scene ended and the two of them were given a break. That one scene was weirdly exhausting. It was probably because of all the work that he put into it, but also because he spent so much time distracted. There was nothing more he wanted right now than to pop open some cold beers with his lover. His boyfriend? Lover seemed apt. He was not sure if they were on the boyfriend level yet.

“You’re pretty good at what you do,” he decided to give Dolores a little encouragement. She was probably tired and needed the kind of pep talk that would perk a girl up.

“Not too bad yourself,” she sounded sarcastic.

“Oh…uh…thank you,” he hesitated, unsure of how to take that.

“Let’s be honest,” she lit up a cigarette and let out a relieved breath, “The sex is shit. We’re both acting our hearts out.”

He felt his cheeks heat up and looked away. That was a bit harsh. There was no need to stomp on his ego like that. Then again, he had not known he had an ego for this. Why did he have an ego for this? He was not even into the sex.

“It’s like you’re not even there,” Dolores complained, “I gotta pickup the slack for both of us.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied meekly.

“Don’t give me sorry,” she waved the hand holding her lit cigarette, “You sell it well. You’re good at the fighting stuff. That stuff…I’ve never done any of that. Is that real?”

He managed to perk up a little and crack a smile. At least it was fair given his experience as a mercenary. “It’s the real kind of stuff. Granted…not the kind of force you’d have in a real fight. A real fight is over in two seconds.”

“Sounds like my ex,” she put her cigarette back to her lips, taking a moment to just soak in the cigarette.

There was a long silence as they hung back there. Dolores sucked on her cigarette and Francis guzzled down a bottle of water. They half watched the scene being shot after. It was not interesting. In fact, neither of them had any interest in watching.

“If I’m honest,” Dolores went on, “I’d rather do any of these girls rather than the guys here.”

“Um…” he was not sure what to say or do about that information.

“No offense, but most of you guys smell like dirty gym socks,” she went on, shaking her head, “A lot of you look like pigs too.”

“I…uh…” he was still unsure of what to do with that information. He just sort of teetered off and left the silence between them.

“You’re probably the one exception,” Dolores went on.

“Um…thank you?” he said, unsure of how to handle this.

“You’re like…clean…and you smell better,” Dolores went on, “You like…don’t seem all rough and grungy like the rest of them. You look like you actually take care of yourself.”

“Um…that’s…a good thing, I guess?” he shrugged, feeling awkward about this.

She sighed as she put her cigarette out in a tray, “I tolerate these guys almost twenty-four seven. I think I can tolerate some bad sex for better hygiene.”

“Uh…good to know?” he shrank back, wishing he could just vanish.

They fell silent as the scene grew louder. It was time to quiet down as the scene was falling together. Francis just wanted to get the fuck out of this room.


	18. Left and Empty

Sniper felt a tight sensation in his chest as he watched. It was not the kind of feeling that meant a physical ailment. It was the kind of tightness you kept to yourself. He watched, gripped with an awful worry.

It took several tries for the director to make it clear for the Scout. The youth just did not get it. Running was running to him, and he made a bullet speed dart down the hallway before anybody could try anything on him. He was used to dodging danger. He was built and trained for this very action.

The more he watched, the more the tightness in his chest wore off. The worry subsided along with it. Eventually, especially with how frustrated the Engineer became, Sniper grew amused at the young mercenary’s inability to be less speedy. A Scout could never be caught in this situation, the scene was just not planned out right.

Then the Engineer acted unnecessarily. As Scout came running in, smiling with the air pushing on his face, the Engineer grabbed the Pyro’s axe and threw all of his force into body slamming him, using the axe for a block, so the speedster could not go further.

Gasps filled the hall as the other mercenaries looked on, realizing how unnecessary the force was. Scout had no breath to gasp, losing all of the air from his lungs in that one instance. The Engineer did not let up, holding him hard against the wall.

“Stupid Engineer!” the Heavy was surprisingly the first to step in. His big body and strong arms peeled the Engineer off of the younger man. He kept a hold of the Engineer, wary of the axe he held and the threat he posed to the vulnerable Scout. “Is not necessary! Do not hurt little Scout! Same team!” The man was bewildered at the Engineer’s behavior.

The Scout slid down the wall, leaning against it for support until he was sitting. His eyes were big and his mouth agape as he tried to get air. It was awhile before they could hear his lungs working.

Sniper noted that in spite of the Heavy’s insistence, they were not of the same color. The Scout’s red clothes contrasted the Engineer’s blue attire. Perhaps though, Zachary just needed to remind himself that he did not think of blue and red as synonymous as the Heavy might.

Pyro laughed. He laughed like it was all a joke. Was it a joke? Zachary had lost his amusement in that moment. It was an act of violence that was unnecessary to the situation, given that they were not working as mercenaries, rather as actors.

“Cut! Cut!” the director called out.

Zachary stepped forward as the director confronted the Engineer. He turned his attention to the assaulted man and crouched before him. The eyes that met his were like glazed bewilderment. They seemed unable to focus for the time being. He suddenly looked so tired and frightened, as if he would not get up and run again.

“You alright, kid?” Zachary asked him.

Those words seemed to send a lightning bolt through the Scout’s body. He jumped to his feet and bounced as if it never happened. Zachary rose to join him, a little concerned that he might be bouncing around too soon.

“Took me by surprise with that!” the Scout’s smile was clearly a forced one.

Zachary frowned, saving a glance for the Engineer’s back, “He wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“Yea, I know,” Scout agreed.

“You should be careful,” Zachary lowered his voice and turned his attention back to Scout.

“I’m fine,” the Scout raised a defensive hand, “I got this. I’m like…just haven’t been in fighting lately. I’m still in shape though.”

“We’ll start from the next scene,” the director’s loud voice cut through their talk, “We’ll edit the footage and use that take.”

“Seems unorthodox,” Zachary mumbled.

“What’d you say, Sniper?” the director’s voice cut at him in a way that made him fear speaking. Zachary merely shook his head, refusing to repeat himself. The director returned to his spot before. “Alright, we’ll start from the next part. Scout face down on the floor. I want Engineer pinning him and Pyro will hold the axe.” There was a pause as the director turned his attention to the Pyro. “ _Don’t_ use it.”

The Pyro gave the director a salute and a nod. He took the axe from the Engineer and rested it against his shoulder. Zachary eyed it for a moment, feeling wary of its presence. If that made the Pyro laugh, what made him burst a gut?

“Alright! Everybody ready?” the director called.

The Scout moved bouncily and dropped down near where he was slammed into the wall. He laid face down, watching curiously as the Engineer placed himself over him. He placed his hands over the Scout’s wrists and straddled his behind. Pyro stepped forward and lowered the axe, but did not do anything more than make sure it was in the shot.

“And…action!” the director called.

“I’m gonna break you like a stolen mule, boy!” the Engineer’s crass words were emphasized by his wicked smile.

Zachary turned away, deciding not to look at how Scout pretended to struggle. He could hear clothes rustling as they moved and pretended to struggle.

“Get off me!” the Scout exclaimed several times.

“This one’s cute,” the Engineer snickered wryly.

“Cigarette?” a whisper caught Zachary’s attention and his head whipped around. He looked everywhere before he realized that the Spy was standing right in front of him. He held a stick between two fingers, procured to offer to the Sniper. “It helps to calm nerves.”

Zachary thought about the pack he had left in his camper. He had avoided smoking because he had not had anything to eat either. He did not want to make himself sick, considering being here was enough to make him feel ill.

He cautiously took the cigarette, then gave him a nod in gratitude. He had no lighter on him, but he still put the cigarette in his mouth and patted down his clothes. He did not leave one on his person by accident either.

A lighter appeared at the end of his cigarette. The gloved hand holding it kept the flame there until the cigarette was lit. With a fluid motion, the Spy closed the lighter and pocketed it.

“Thanks,” Zachary whispered.

“Don’t mention it,” the Spy replied with a smile.

The revving of a minigun caught his attention. Spooked by instinct, he turned around to look and see what was coming. The Heavy Weapons Guy was carrying a prop and the revving sound came from a speaker nearby. The Heavy’s big boots pounded against the floor. He was closely followed by the Medic, who looked a little shaky as he held his medigun.

“What is this?” the Heavy held his gun in a resting position.

The Engineer looked up through goggle lenses. He had his pants down, and he was deep in the Scout’s behind. His hands held the younger man down by his shoulders, while the Pyro kept a foot placed on the younger man’s hand. Scout looked the part of a man with no clues on what this was.

“Fresh meat from RED,” the Engineer chuckled haughtily. One hand moved to pat the Scout’s bare bottom.

“Is not funny,” the Heavy growled, but Zachary doubted the microphone could hear it.

“Want a turn?” the Engineer grinned up at him.

“What? No!” Scout started moving up and down, in a false attempt to escape. All he ended up doing was bounding on the Engineer’s dick, causing him to shudder and his jaw to go slack for a moment.

The Heavy gave a thoughtful hum, then paused. He glanced over his shoulder at the Medic. The Medic whispered something to him and his face lit up like he realized something.

“Mmm…looks good,” the Heavy gave a hearty and cheery smile to the Engineer.

The Engineer gave out a cackle, “This one’s feisty!” He began thrusting into him again, causing the Scout to become putty against the floor again.

It was not as bad as Zachary thought it would be. At least, not in terms of seeing Scout react. In fact, because he was not actually against this situation, he seemed to be fully enjoying it.

“RED fights for escape. Not big surprise,” the Heavy set his prop down, and the Medic quickly followed his lead.

“He’s got a- ugn!” the Engineer’s words were cut off by his own moaning as he came into Scout.

“Is good, da?” the Heavy put his fists on his hips, watching the Scout convulse under the Engineer.

“Yea,” the Engineer breathed as he pulled his dick out of him, “He’s good.”

They quickly switched positions, with the Engineer moving to hold down the Scout’s hands. The Pyro moved out of the way, continuing to watch. It seemed he would not be participating in this activity.

A pained sound ripped from the scout’s throat as he was filled by the Heavy. It made Zachary cringe, so he turned away. He did not want to lay witness to something that sounded so painful.

The Spy joined him, “Are you alright, mon ami?” The Spy laid a hand on his shoulder.

He gave the hand a wary glare before looking at the Spy, “Do I know you?”

The Spy gave him an incredulous expression, “I…gave you the cigarette.”

“Before though,” Zachary insisted, “Did we work together before?”

“I…uh…” the Spy seemed confused, oblivious to why the Sniper was asking this.

Zachary sighed, “Did we ever work in the same facilities before?”

“I…no, I don’t think so,” the Spy said worriedly.

“Oh,” Zachary was satisfied with the answer and turned his attention away.

The loudest two of the bunch, Demoman and Soldier were arriving on cue. Their scene was apparently too complicated for them though. They required at least a dozen takes before they got the initial scene right. Even then, it sounded like the director was disappointed about it.

Then it was time. The assistants came over to give him and the Spy their cues. Dread was a heavy weight in his stomach as he turned around to face the scene. Much of the action had halted for the sake of their entrance. The two of them shuffled off down the hallway, making sure they were mostly out of sight before they turned to walk together. How strange though, a Sniper dressed in red casually walking along with a Spy dressed in blue.

They came around the corner as the scene began. Neither of them had lines to say. They just sort of made intrigued faces, as the cue cards told them to do, and tried to find their place in the mix. Sniper had a harder time figuring out what he was supposed to do. The Demoman was still deep inside of Scout, and with the way his eye rolled back, it did not look like he would stop pounding him anytime soon. Spy was a bit more clever, getting down to the floor and starting up a semi-conversation that might well not be picked up by the microphones.

Sniper could hear it though. Every little daring word that left his mouth was clear as daylight. He taunted Scout, asked him how he liked being a toy, stroked his jaw sensually, told him he was a pretty toy and nothing more, and then pulled out his dick. At first it seemed he would just jerk himself off to the sight of the messy Scout. He was already a messed up sight, with cum gleaming on the back of his wrinkled shirt, his skin gleaming with sweat and his face the expression of overstimulation and exhaustion. He must not have been expecting to taste flesh against his tongue, because Zachary had not expected it either. Scout’s eyes went from tired to big as his mouth was filled by the Spy’s cock. Drool licked the floor, dropping from the tired youth’s lip as his mouth became the tool for which the Spy got his pleasure.

Zachary just sort of zoned out. He was not even sure how long he was standing there before somebody yelled at him. He shook off the weird feeling of being in some other world outside of his own body. He stepped closer while the Spy and Demoman each moved away from the younger man. Each man seemed to be fully satisfied with himself, and probably wanted to just lay down and take a nap.

He did his best not to let his nerves show. When he moved behind Scout, it just seemed more awkward. He turned the tired young man over onto his back, watching how he flopped over like he was helpless with useless arms. His penis bounced and flopped against his belly. He must have come more than once, spattering cum all over his shirt. He held his breath as he removed his cock from his pants. He was not even a little aroused.

The director called for the scene to pause and somebody rushed over. He was a bit embarrassed when a gloved hand took a hold of his member. He held his breath again as it was brought to full erection. When the person let go, he took a breath of relief. It was short-lived relief, as the cameras started again and the director called for action.

He was not used to this situation or this position. Sure he had done many pornos before this, but nothing like this. Every time before this, he was on the bottom. Whether he interacted or not was irrelevant. Every time, he was the one taking something. That’s how things were for him, that’s what he put in his profile, that’s what he signed up for.

Why they signed him up to be a top was beyond him. He did his best though, pretending to be into it and filling Scout’s ass. In truth it felt good. He was tight and warm around him. It was not the same feeling though, since there was nothing to touch that tender spot he had. He would have to settle for experiencing how things were for the tops.

Scout seemed to like it well enough too. He was staring at him, watching as he thrust into his body with relentless energy. He grew a bit nervous and took a hold of the loose dick flopping around. It was not like it was being used anyways. He needed something for his hands, so he played with it. The result was Scout writhing underneath of him with reckless abandon.

He bit his lip as he came, filling whatever space was left in his slippery ass. He was so slippery that Zachary slid right now, and easily slipped himself back in his pants and moved away from Scout.

This was the least messy he had ever felt. He still wanted a shower, but he did not feel half as disgusting as he usually did. He actually felt very tired and hungry. He could not decide on whether to go get food first or take a nap first. Either way, staying there to wait for everything to wrap up was exhausting. He was swaying on his feet when they were finally dismissed.

“You,” Heavy’s voice interrupted him midstep. He paused, looking to the Heavy with confusion. “Yes you,” the man pointed a thick finger at him, as if accusing him of something.

Zachary glanced around quickly. He was wary that he might be in trouble for something. He looked to see if anybody else was paying attention. Much to his relief, there was nobody around to care what was happening between the two.

“Sniper,” the big man’s voice softened, “How is Engineer?”

He paused for a moment, taken off guard by the question. His mind went to the Engineer that they just did a job with. He had no idea about that Engineer, so why would this man be asking _him_?

“Is he alright?” the Heavy’s voice was laden with concern.

“I…you…” he glanced around and caught sight of the Engineer leaving with Pyro, “He’s over there.”

The Heavy looked, head spinning with surprise. When he looked back to the Sniper, he had an irritated look of disappointment.

“Francis,” the big man growled, “How is Francis?”

Oh right. Zachary had all but forgotten about the man. He had been on his mind before the job. Zachary had managed to forget about him, but now he had to remember again, thanks to this man.

“Is he hurt? What has happened?” the Heavy grew worried.

“Nah mate,” Zachary was reeling, trying to regain mental balance.

The Heavy relaxed an inch, “He is fine?”

“Who are you?” Zachary blurted.

The big man’s brow furrowed with concern, “Me? I am Heavy. You and I, we worked together. Remember?”

Zachary did not pay much attention to his teammates’ faces when he worked with them. After having seen and met so many Heavys, especially having seen so many of them naked, it was hard for him to say for sure that he recognized this man.

“RED Heavy,” the man gestured to himself, “Where is Engineer?”

“He’s…I don’t know,” Zachary shrugged his shoulders in a big dramatic motion.

The Heavy blinked at him, “You and Francis come here for work together?” He sounded so confused by this conundrum.

“Apparently not,” Zachary grumbled.

“You and Engineer,” the Heavy pointed to the Sniper, “You were in relations. You were boyfriend.”

“We were,” Zachary averted his gaze. What more could he say? He already felt horrendous about it.

“You are not anymore?” Heavy inquired.

“I…” Zachary sighed, “No.”

The Heavy fell silent, pondering what he just learned. Neither of them spoke for a long time. It seemed that there was nothing else to say. There was no more reason for the Heavy to speak with him anymore, now that he knew that the Engineer was not associated with him anymore.

“You broke up with Engineer?” the Heavy’s voice held disbelief in it.

“No,” he felt his cheeks growing hot, “He left me.”

“You lost him?!” the Heavy sounded much more incredulous.

“No? What?” he was confused by the wording.

“How you do this?” Heavy demanded, “Engineer is good man. Kind man. He leaves nobody behind!”

Zachary shrugged, “I don’t know. You tell me. He barely explained a damned thing.”

“He just left you?” Heavy was still staring at him, as if this situation was bizarre.

“With nothing,” Zachary shrugged, “I guess he might be at the motel. I hear they do shoots over there too.” He shrugged, not caring to go in further detail.

“I see,” Heavy replied.

“Yea,” Zachary cleared his throat, “You might try over there. He came in his own truck, but I haven’t seen him around the parking lot here.


	19. Little Baby Dare

In the course of a month, things sort of quieted down. Zachary was not receiving anymore casting calls from directors. He was not even noted for the Sniper specific roles. He just sort of seemed to have been forgotten.

That was good for him anyways. He did not need this stupid job. He did not need the work. Not work that was this dirty and gross. He did not even know why he was still here.

He stepped out of his camper and stepped over to the little campfire bowl. The so called park rangers came around often to make sure they were not doing fires that destroyed stuff, so he used an old tire cover and some other scrap to make a platform for his fires. It was blackened from use, with the ashes of the last fire still sitting on the bottom, soaked with the most recent summer rain.

He stretched his back before he picked it up and dumped it in the brush. He was too tired to worry about where he was dumping it. It would decompose eventually.

The sun was just a little above the horizon, peeking over the line. It was as good a time as any to get going. He had better do it now, since he had the energy for it. He would just flop on his bed later when he lost the energy.

He grabbed the chairs and started folding them, ready to toss them into the camper. That was when a loud bang caught his attention. He flinched, terrified at the sudden realization that there was no gun on hand. He dropped his chairs and rushed through the door, unable to convince himself that there was little chance that the noise came from a weapon. He grabbed his shotgun, ready to blow somebody’s head off. A couple of rounds were shoved into a vest pocket and another into the barrel.

He stepped out into the sunlight and looked around, with his shotgun lifted warily. He turned to survey the surrounding area. Nothing seemed out of place around here so the shot was probably elsewhere.

“Sniper,” a big voice startled him, causing him to spin around and raise his shotgun. He pointed it at a big man with his hands upraised. “Was not me,” the Heavy gave a vague gesture. Sniper looked past him to see that there was a man bent over an open truck. He had not noticed it before, but the man seemed to be puzzling out what had happened to his engine. “Was big blast.”

“Right,” the Sniper squinted suspiciously, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for people. Have you seen doctor?” the Heavy asked.

Zachary shook his head, “Haven’t seen any Medics around.”

The Heavy frowned, “Spy?”

Zachary finally managed to lower his shotgun as his body relaxed. His heart was still pounding, but he felt a twinge of relief knowing that it was all just a bunch of questions. There was no harm here. The man was just looking for people that the Sniper had not seen.

“I haven’t seen hardly anybody I know in about a year,” he told the Heavy.

“That is not true,” the big man replied, with a furrowed brow.

“You calling me a liar?” he was ready to lift the barrel of his gun again.

“You saw Heavy one month ago,” was the quip that came back.

Zachary rolled his eyes, “I barely recognized you.”

“Da,” Heavy frowned, “What is problem?”

“You’re holding me up,” he relaxed his grip on the gun and returned to his camper. He let the door open as he put his weapon away. He removed the bullets, determined not to shoot his foot off by accident.

When he stepped back out, he was surprised to see the Heavy still standing out there. He was watching him curiously. What he was trying to figure out was beyond Zachary’s knowledge. He frowned at the Heavy, hoping he might get the idea that he was not wanted around here.

“What is Sniper doing?” the Heavy asked curiously.

“It ain’t your business to butt into, wanker,” Zachary growled.

“Is cleaning?” the Heavy looked at the dumped fire tray.

“No,” Zachary protested, “Well…yes and no. I’m leaving.”

“Where will Sniper go?” the Heavy asked.

“Dunno,” Zachary shrugged, “Anywhere but here.”

“Did baby directors fire Sniper?” the Heavy looked a bit concerned.

“No,” the Sniper grumbled, “No call ins. No calls, no job. No job, no point in being here.”

The Heavy slowly nodded, understanding Zachary’s point of view. He did not seem to know his intentions though, as he did not move from where he was. Zachary did not stand still though, grabbing his chairs to put them inside.

“Is shame,” the Heavy interrupted his quiet thoughts as he rustled about in his things.

“What?” Zachary threw the man a glare.

“Is shame,” Heavy shrugged and folded his big arms over his chest, “You are leaving without saying goodbye?”

“Why should I? Who should I? I don’t know anybody to say goodbye too,” he tossed his fire tray into the camper angrily. He was growing frustrated with the topic the Heavy chose.

“Francis is friend, no?” the Heavy inquired.

“Francis fucked off,” Zachary was pissed off at him now.

“Francis is longtime friend!” the Heavy pleaded.

“Not to me,” Zachary growled, “He could easily throw that away, why shouldn’t I?”

“Did Sniper leave this?” the Heavy asked, puzzled by something remarkable.

He frowned at the man, trying to figure out what this was. There was no gesture or thing in his hands that pointed out what the Heavy was talking about. “What the hell do you mean?”

“Your relationship broken,” the Heavy gestured to him with one hand, “Is just thrown away? Or did Sniper try to fix?”

“Why should I? He didn’t,” Zachary growled.

“Is not one way,” the Heavy said solemnly, “Maybe you are missing what was broken.”

“Are you even fully aware of English?” Zachary was frustrated now, kicking over some overturned grass so as not to piss off some ranger.

“Heavy is aware that if the Engineer does not try to fix relationship, then perhaps it was broken already. Engineer is man who fixes,” Heavy explained.

“Not everything,” Zachary grumbled.

“If Engineer cannot fix, then it must be Sniper who must fix,” the Heavy said, as if he was explaining something that was clearly obvious.

“I think that boat sailed a long time ago, mate,” Zachary growled, mostly out of spite for the situation than anything else.

“Is not too late,” the Heavy protested, “Sniper must fix. You can be friends.”

“Why would I want to be?” Zachary had to take a moment to remember that the Heavy was not there when they broke up. He did not hear what Francis said or see how he behaved.

“Does Sniper want to be alone?” the Heavy inquired.

“You’re hitting the situation right on the nose there,” Zachary quipped.

“Sniper is loner,” the Heavy chuckled, “That I understand. But Sniper does not want to see Engineer ever again?”

Zachary turned his attention away from the Heavy. He tried to ignore him. Maybe he could drown him out with his thoughts and focus.

“Never see old friend again?” those words cut right through his thoughts.

Zachary turned back to the Heavy, “And what if he doesn’t want it fixed? What if he doesn’t want any of it to be repaired?”

“The worst thing that happen? He doesn’t want to see you,” the Heavy shrugged, “Is not likely.”

Zachary hesitated. Was he really thinking of doing something? It had been so long. He was not even sure when he last saw Francis. It had been an emotional day, with dread and pain intermixing with anger. He did not even bother trying to find out where Francis was and what he was doing.

“Sniper needs support, no?” the big man inquired.

“I don’t,” Zachary growled. Honestly, he had an inkling of curiosity about what Francis was doing, now that the Heavy brought it up.

“If Heavy and Sniper go together, we can see the Engineer,” the Heavy insisted, “Can talk to him. Is surely mixup. Francis would want talk to Sniper.”

“I’m pretty sure that is not the case,” Zachary insisted, brushing his hands on his pants. He could not help but ponder this conundrum some more.

“Let’s see,” Heavy insisted.

“What for? It would not do any good,” Zachary shook his head in protest.

“We go,” the Heavy held out his arms in gesture, “We go together. We see Engineer. We talk to him. We’ll see. You’ll see.”

Zachary tightened his expression, “I don’t think he wants to see me.”

“We go see,” Heavy pressed sternly.

“And if he doesn’t want to see me?” Zachary pressed.

The Heavy shrugged, “You will have face music. No?”

He paused as he thought about what he said. He probably meant to say ‘faced the music’ which seemed a little irrelevant to this situation. He decided not to correct him, as Zachary did not care if the man said things the wrong way.

“Well?” the Heavy pressed.

“I’m not going to lose anything by not going,” Zachary shrugged, “It’s not like I’ll gain anything.”

“You gain friend back,” Heavy insisted sternly, “Sniper is baby.”

“What you say, mate?” he growled in warning.

“Heavy said ‘Sniper is little baby,’” the big man replied in an equally impressive growl, “If Sniper is not man enough to face music, then Sniper is little diaper baby. Cannot handle little confrontation.”

Zachary squared his shoulders. Part of his mind knew that this was just a taunt. He was taunting him to get him to agree to this. As for the rest of him? It was working.

“Alright mate,” he pointed to the cab door of his truck, “Get in and we’ll go see how this turns out.”

He half expected gloating. The big man was quiet though, contentedly climbing into the passenger seat of the truck. The Sniper felt his face turn red as he closed the camper door and headed to the driver’s seat. He had not seen Francis in a long time, and he was going on a dare to prove that he was not an infant. The infantile taunting had worked and it was embarrassing to know so.

As he climbed into the cab and started the truck he noted that he was not alone. That was probably a benefit. Last time he saw Francis, when he broke off their relationship, Zachary had been alone and without any support. Maybe having this big man along would help his odds in dealing with the Engineer. Might help him feel anything other than rejection when Francis did not want anything to do with him. He could take his mind off of it with a lot of ‘I told you so’ to taunt the Heavy for being wrong.

As they pulled out of the parking area for the old run down auction house, he realized that he wanted the man to be right. He wanted the Heavy to be so right about this. They were going to go meet Francis, and while every part of him was screaming that he would be rejected again, he wanted this to be true. He wanted to see him and realize love again. He wanted to be embraced again, to know what it felt like to be cared about, to know that somebody cared that he was around. He wanted to see the man with that happy-to-see-him smile.

The Heavy made a thoughtful sound as they started to see signs for things in town. They were getting closer to their destination. These were just advertisements on the outskirts to try and bring in tourism, though it did not seem to work for the townsfolk.

“What?” Zachary inquired about the man’s thoughtful noise.

“Town has many things,” Heavy noted.

“Yea? What about them?” the Sniper growled.

“Is shame,” the Heavy stated, his tone solemn and tired.

“What is?” Zachary pressed, irritated at the cryptic nature of his words.

“Town wants many visitors. Would save town. Economy is not good with no visitor. Is shame, nobody visits these things,” the Heavy gestured to a sign about cavern spelunking as they passed it.

“Yea well, that’s what happens in small towns,” Zachary replied.

“Shame,” was all that was said, with silence falling upon them thereafter.

The two of them were quiet all the way to the motel. The parking lot was too full to park there. There were a few mercenary trucks, but most of the vehicles were nice little cars. A couple of vans were there too, likely delivering cameras and other equipment for the shooting that was done here.

The Heavy made a thoughtful sound, leaning forward to look around, “Sniper can park along sidewalk?”

“Sure,” he pulled up alongside the road. He sighed and turned his gaze back to the parking lot. His eyes landed upon a figure behind a truck. His body froze up as he watched him, sorting through some clothes.

Zachary’s sharp eyes could spot Francis anywhere. His head was freshly shaved, making it a strange glistening sight without his yellow work helmet on. He was familiar though, thick hands sorting through his stuff with practiced ease. He turned around and smiled, calling to somebody’s attention from across the parking lot.

“Now is good time to go to Engineer,” the Heavy climbed out of the cab.

Zachary put his hand on the door’s lever. His eyes were distracted though. They moved to the man walking across the parking lot towards Francis. He did not know this man. He was short and a little rounded, looking similar to an Engineer with less muscle.

The Heavy was in the peripheral of his vision, but he was focused on the two men together. He watched how familiar the man was with Francis. He saw how close they stood together.

He remembered how close Francis used to be with him. He would step close to him, sidle up to his side. They would lean against each other during down time. They were physical comforts within arm’s reach during work.

He looked on in astonishment as the shorter man sidled up to Francis. The taller Engineer’s face held a smile, almost wry and playful. His hands went to the man’s sides as the shorter man rose up on the balls of his feet. Their faces met in embrace, neither pulling away as they sucked face together.

Whatever was left of his heart this morning shattered on the floor of his truck. He looked on, his mind going blank as he became floored. The Engineer was not thinking about the Sniper. He did not even have a moment’s thought for him. He had already forgotten him and moved on to somebody else. It left him feeling broken and unimportant. It left a hole where his heart fell out of his chest.

He started the truck and stepped on the gas. Without a second thought, he pulled away from the parking lot. He left it behind him. He did not even dare to look back.


	20. A Guilty Conscience

Francis smiled at Dex, whose hands still clasped the front of his shirt. He raised tired hands to place them on Dex’s waist. The man smiling back at him just kept on beaming. It just reminded him of how lovely it was to feel this deeply in love, that he could keep on staring at him for hours instead of getting sleep.

“Engineer!” a big voice boomed from across the parking lot.

Both of them rightfully turned their heads, surprising to see a big Russian man with a closely shaven head coming their way. It took Francis a minute, but as the man came closer, he recognized his old teammate.

“Heavy!” he waved back, smiling with a giddy feeling of surprise.

“Ahh,” Dex made a sound of understanding and stepped back to let Francis have his reunion. Francis gave him a smile of gratitude for that.

The big man boomed a hearty chuckle as he offered a hand in greeting. Francis shook the hand with a smile. The other man patted his shoulder. It was strange to see somebody else from his team here. He did not expect any of the others to even consider a job like this. Most of them did their best to avoid this work. It was too uncomfortable to think about.

“Good to see you!” the Heavy boomed with a big smile.

“Good to see you too,” Francis beamed at him.

“You look great,” Heavy complimented, “Who is friend?” He turned his head to look past Francis at the shorter Engineer.

Francis reached back and looped an arm around Dex’s shoulders. He might as well loop him in now. He was not going to hide his new love interest from the Heavy. Dex smiled a bit, with that cute rosy cheeked timidity.

“This here is Dex,” he said, gesturing to his partner.

“Dex?” the Heavy offered his hand to the other Engineer.

“Dexter Dooley,” he offered his right hand to the Heavy with a shy smile.

“Pleasure to meet Francis’…” the man let his voice trail off, waiting for somebody to fill in the blank.

Francis felt panic leap up in him. He had been bouncing between the ideas that they might be boyfriends but that they might just be lovers. He was not sure where the line was or where to draw it. He could not just blurt out that they were boyfriends. What if he was wrong about that? That would embarrass Dex which was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Boyfriend,” Dex answered, much to Francis’ surprise.

“Nice too meet you,” the Heavy said politely.

“Pleasure is all mine,” Dex replied as their hands parted. He gestured between Heavy and Francis. “You two used to work together?”

“Yes sir,” Francis nodded.

“Shucks, it seems you got all sorts of friends,” Dex noted with a smile.

The smile put Francis off, because of his words. Something about those words felt wrong. Like perhaps he was just masking some negative feeling about this situation. Jealousy maybe? Did Dex have an issue with Francis having so many friends? He had already called out their status for him, referring to himself as Francis’ boyfriend, so it was time to worry about any insecurities that Dex might have about all of this.

“It is good to see Engineer again,” the Heavy said, resting his hands on his hips. He was unaware of any concerning factors here, so Francis decided to ease off the worry for now. He could talk to Dex about it later.

“It is good to see you too! How’ve you been? What are you doing here?” Francis asked.

Heavy shrugged, big shoulders shifting most of his clothes due to their mass. “Work,” he answered.

“I thought you took a job up in Maine,” Francis frowned with concern.

“Is…bad,” Heavy scratched his neck just beneath his jaw, “Heavy evicted. Team’s jobs taken. Maybe…two months? Three months?”

“Two months ago?” Francis asked with raised eyebrows.

“No. Heavy work two or three months,” the big man explained, “Then base…shut down?” His inquiry came with a look of uncertainty. When both Americans nodded in understanding, he resumed, “Like our base. No work. Must leave base. So, Heavy go to Miss Pauling for work. No work. Heavy go to black market. Almost to prison. Then Pauling come find me. Bring me here.”

“That’s a lot,” Dex huffed, shaking his head, “I can imagine you’re tired from all of that.”

“No, is good,” Heavy replied heartily, “Heavy see new things. New experiences. Maybe think is good time to leave fighting behind.”

“You’re a wise man,” Francis said solemnly.

“Not an…not an easy thing to just up and leave this job,” Dooley’s smile was more of a gritting of the teeth, rather than a pleasant expression.

“I think it’s commendable,” Francis said, immediately feeling a tension between himself and Dex.

“Is not so bad. Outside of work for fighting, Heavy find many people need help. Work is good,” he explained, “But world is not ready for Heavy.”

“It’s a difficult life outside of this work,” Dex nodded sullenly.

“Da,” Heavy nodded, “So am here. Heavy work. Is good here?”

“Well, I’d say it’s alright,” Francis shrugged.

Dex let out a chuckle and pointed his thumb at Francis, “This boy here’s got work damn near every day. I only get him on Sundays.”

Francis grinned, but he was feeling embarrassed by it. The implications were weird. Also, it was not as if Dex did not get his free time after work. Did Francis working so much bother him? That was probably the most pressing matter for their relationship yet, and it had only just come to fruition that they were even in a serious relationship.

Heavy and Dex started laughing together, sharing a moment. Maybe Heavy could relate to the situation. Maybe he just found it humorous. Francis did not want to think of what the man might be thinking of him if he understood the implications of working damn near every day with only Sundays and some Saturdays off.

“Now that ya’ll got that outta your systems,” Francis tucked his hands into his pockets, “Heavy, I’m glad to see ya. I’m sorry things did not work out for you at your work place.”

“Is alright,” Heavy dismissed this, “Heavy has found friend! And friend has good friend! Is good! Boyfriend? Yes?”

Dex nodded in response, “Yes sir.”

“Heavy will leave. Can take…hint? Hint. Need to find Sniper,” Heavy glanced over towards the road, pursing out his lower lip.

“Sniper?” Dex peered around him at the road curiously.

“Eh…Sniper?” Francis hesitated, “You mean…Sniper as in RED Sniper? Or Sniper as in…another Sniper?”

Heavy looked to Francis gravely, “RED Sniper. He is bad shape.”

Francis felt a cold icy chill run down his body. A sort of terror he never felt before. It was immediately followed by disappointment and the sensation of failure. Why though? He was a hardworking man who did his job! To many of the mercenaries here, he had the greatest success, given his steady job.

He swallowed as he ran down the list of sensations he might be feeling. Regret was among them. His mind went to the day he broke it off with Zachary. The man had only been doing what he thought they were supposed to be doing. He had thought they were still boyfriends. Neither really talked about it. They barely talked about their relationship when they got together.

He thought back to what was done and said. Zachary was never really a bad guy. He was just quiet. He solemnly refused to talk much. He quietly decided not to be a part of discussions that were important to the relationship. For the most part, he let Francis talk about everything alone, reasoning and rationalizing everything with himself. He hated it. He loathed all of that pent up energy and had thrown it at Zachary upon the day of their breakup.

And Zachary followed him here. He turned down a better job to be with Francis. That thought made his heart drop to his boots. His palms were sweaty with the heat of guilt, despite feeling as cold as the North Pole.

Had he worked things out, maybe they could have been on better terms. That was what was bothering him now though. Had he not broken it off openly and made it clear to Zachary, things would not have changed. But, the way it was now, he left a friendless man alone to fend for himself. He had no idea the Sniper even stuck around for the job here.

Did he think that Francis would just come back to him? Fat chance of that. It was not because of Dex either. He did not want a close intimate relationship where he neither felt close nor intimate with his partner. He needed somebody like Dex. He needed somebody who wanted to touch him, talk to him, and actively be a part of the conversation. He wanted the relationship to be something active, not something that just sits passively for maybe twenty years.

Zachary was no less a friend though. He had his line of screw ups, but he was not a terrible man. He never once hurt Francis during their relationship. They even had a history before it of being good friends. When the break up happened, he did not really give Zachary the chance to have that relationship. Given the man had no personal connections with other mercenaries, it worried him to hear that he was in bad shape.

“I uh…” Francis frowned at the ground by his toes. Guilt was overwhelmingly strong in this situation. “I haven’t seen him since…well…we got here,” he sighed, “I thought he left.”

“Is still here,” Heavy pointed out, “Was at run down pig sale.”

“The auction house?” Dex inquired, “I’m pretty sure they sold cows more than pigs.”

“Sniper is maybe leaving,” Heavy added.

Francis sighed, “Yea, I figured he would have done that a long time ago.”

Dex spoke up softly, “You maybe want to talk to him?”

“We haven’t talked in a long time,” Francis looked at Dex, who looked to him with concern, “I reckon I destroyed a friendship when trying to break off a relationship.”

“If…Heavy not cross line,” the other man intervened hesitantly, “What did happened with Sniper?”

Francis sighed and recounted what happened. He glossed over the part where he met Dex. Looking back, it just looked like the man he loved was the reason he left Zachary. He needed it to be clear that it was his own reasons for leaving. In the end, he only felt guiltier that he did not break it off before ever leaving the base.

Heavy was quiet through the entire story. He would nod in understanding. Sometimes he made a face as he tried to understand or translate what Francis was explaining in his head. He understood well enough, as he would nod for Francis to continue the story. He did not interrupt him. He did not hasten him or slow him down on purpose. He did not even make comment, he just let him speak about it.

The silence only made him feel worse. It felt nice to vent about his problems, but it only became more apparent as it came out of his mouth that he manipulated Zachary. Regret and guilt comingled in his chest as tears threatened to burn his corneas. He did what he had to, but he did it in a bad way. He did wrong by Zachary and it was not fair.

When he finally finished the Heavy was looking down, thinking about his words. He was concentrating on their meanings, perhaps translating it to Russian. When he finished thinking, he looked to Francis, a deep look that seemed just as distant as they were close to understand the meaning behind the story.

“Heavy thinks you are…sad…about this?” the big man inquired.

Francis looked own to his toes. Was he that transparent? He felt so ashamed that it blistered his heart. He felt like he had done a ruthless and cowardly thing.

“Not…sad,” Francis answered, refusing to look up, “But maybe…regretful. I uh…I didn’t mean to lose a friend that day. But I did.”

“I didn’t…know…” Dex put in hesitantly. Francis looked to him curiously. Sad eyes looked back at him. “I didn’t know you felt this about what had happened.”

“I…didn’t either,” Francis looked away again in shame.

“Is little time,” Heavy spoke up. Despite his tone being soft, his voice was very big. “Sniper left, but can catch him in truck.” Francis looked up to see him gesturing to the truck they were standing by. “If you want save friendship.”

“It’s…probably too late for that,” Francis said, feeling down and out about it.

“You should go,” Dex shook his shoulder.

He looked at his boyfriend, “I uh…you do know he’s my ex. Right?”

“I know…but there’s a difference between wanting to be with somebody and wanting to be their friend,” Dex explained, “I should know. If you got nothing else, it’s your friends. Sounds like the Sniper needed a friend.”

“Yea,” Francis looked away in shame, “He doesn’t have one that I know of.”

“Catch him now,” the Heavy pressed, almost sternly.

“Alright,” Francis snatched up a hat and closed the tailgate of his truck, “I’ll be back.”

Dex and Heavy stepped out of the way of the truck. Francis climbed in and started up the vehicle. It roared beautifully, letting him hear its healthy rumble. He pulled out of the parking lot and started driving in the direction Heavy pointed in. From there he had no idea where to go though. There was no telling where the Sniper chose to go. He could have gone anywhere by now.

He assumed a straight line for a while, eventually hitting the old dirt road that led out to the cliffs. The cliffs, if Sniper knew about them, were a good place to be alone in a calming place. It was a good place to vent anger or just find solitude. The more he thought of the likelihood of Sniper going there, the more terrified he grew.

He tried not to think about what could have happened. He tried not to think about what could be. He tried to just focus on finding the Sniper. He looked around the road, searching for any signs that the camper was there. Maybe he pulled off to the side for a moment. Maybe he was parked somewhere. Maybe he was alright and he made a U turn to go to the diner instead.

When he reached the cliffs he barely took the time to put the emergency parking break on, before he rushed the edge. The dying grass crunched beneath his boots. What was lush wet flora during the winter and spring was currently dying remains of winter. As he came to the edge, he peered over. His heart was pounding in his ears now, as he prayed that he would not see anything over the edge. Not seeing anything at first did not stop him from looking some more, just in case he missed it.

“What you doing here?” he flinched and became terrified that he almost jolted himself off the edge. He took a step back before turning to see the Sniper coming to a halt nearby, looking at him. They stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them saying a word. “What you looking for?”

His pattern of speech felt somewhat different. Maybe it was just shorter so he did not have to talk so much. Maybe Francis was just over thinking things. Either way, he pushed that thought aside for relief that Sniper was standing here, alive and well.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Francis,” Zachary frowned.

“The hell? You scared the tarnation out of me!” Francis declared.

“That’d be a first,” Zachary replied, blandly.

“No it wouldn’t,” Francis protested, remembering more than a few dozen times when the Sniper managed to sneak up on him quietly. “Ya’ll need a bell ‘round your neck!”

“So, what you doing here?” Zachary pressed.

“Well,” Francis took a breath as he thought back to the reason he was here. He got so wound up by the terror of the cliffs that he had to remind himself of why he drove here in the first place. “Heavy told me you came out this way,” he answered, hoping there might be some self-explanation in Heavy’s involvement.

“So what?” Zachary looked out at the edge of the cliff, “Ya thought I drove off?”

“It was a hunch,” Francis said warily, “You took off like a shot.”

“Not wanted back there,” Zachary shrugged.

“I thought you left this job months ago,” Francis said, hoping to put this conversation on a track towards recovery.

“Nowhere to go,” Zachary replied, “Most men come here because there’s no work. Here is where they go.”

He took a breath, ready to try and salvage their friendship, “Well…I-”

“What do you want, mate?” Zachary interrupted with a rough tone.

He was a little miffed at the interruption, “I was getting to that, I-”

“I don’t know what you want, but I don’t want what you’re offering,” Zachary was trying to hit all of the points before Francis could explain a damn thing, “You made it very clear that you don’t want me around. Maybe I missed the hint. I’m sorry. I did what you wanted and left you alone. Now leave me alone.”

“Now look, I just wanna talk,” Francis insisted softly, pleading with the Sniper.

Zachary took a step closer, “Listen here. I don’t care what Heavy told you. I don’t care what you think you’re doing. You’re not always right! You’re not always that smart!”

“I know, I’m just trying to…to…fix this,” Francis pleaded, as he felt tears building.

“I don’t see what is there to fix,” Zachary growled, “I see a selfish hardhat parading around as everybody’s friend.” He poked Francis in the chest.

Francis brushed the finger away in frustration, “We used to be friends, you know. Before all of that shit, we were friends.”

“And then we were more,” Zachary’s face expressed so much, but Francis was not sure what it was. Anguish? Terror? Reminiscing? Realization? Frustration? “At least, I thought we were.”

“The only thing you had to do was talk to me,” Francis growled.

“I talked enough,” Zachary protested.

“You didn’t want to participate in anything!” Francis raised his voice in frustration, “You wanted to just listen! And-and-and have me talk for the two of us!” He stepped towards Zachary, causing him to step backwards. “Nothing I did was with you! You just tagged along!” he took another step and Zachary repeated the process, “You didn’t want to discuss anything. You didn’t want to participate in the relationship. Hell, you didn’t kiss me once after that one time I kissed you.” He took another step and Zachary took another step back.

“You expect too much,” was the weak protest.

“How fucking hilarious,” Francis threw his arms up in exasperation. He was about to say something more, but the gesture spooked Zackary. He jolted and his foot became misplaced as the dirt gave out beneath it.

He lurched forward but was too late when the Sniper’s body went toppling over the edge. He lost his voice as he watched the man screaming down the side of the cliff. He could not call out to him, watching as he landed on what appeared to be dead flora sticking out of the cliff. It broke the Sniper’s fall, but he probably had some broken ribs.

“Zachary!” he called to him.

There was no response. Terror filled him as he stared at the body limply hanging from the dead tree. He called again but there was still no answer.

He ran to his truck and began digging through his things. There had to be something that could help him with this situation. There had to be something that could help him. There had to be something that could fix this.

No, he thought. Even if he pulled him up, he had no way to help him. He no doubt had broken ribs and some internal bleeding. On his own, it would take a long time to get him up off the branch, let alone to a doctor. The best thing to do was to bring the doctor to the patient and find somebody who could help him haul the body up.

“Please don’t die,” he whispered under his breath as he hopped into the driver’s seat of his truck.

He tore out with his pedal to the floor. He kept his hands steady, drawing a straight line from the cliffs to the motel. Dexter would help him. Maybe Heavy could help, he was strong. Aha! Maxwell could help! He needed a Medic!


	21. Cliffhanger

When Dooley pulled out of the parking lot, the conversation had died down. Dooley stood beside the Heavy, but there was this weird sensation. Should he get to know his boyfriend’s old friend better? He was not given the chance to decide as the big man turned to him.

“You and Francis, you work together?” the Heavy asked thoughtfully.

Dooley gave a nervous smile and shook his head, “No, I’m not uh…I’m not as good as Frank is. They like Frank. He’s…well…” He felt his cheeks heat up at his own naughty thoughts. “I’ll tell you this much, he’s good at what he does.”

“And you are…you are good to Francis, yes?” the big man inquired.

Relief hit like a wave that the topic changed slightly. He smiled and nodded, “Yes. At least, I try to be.”

“Is not try, is yes or no,” the Heavy insisted.

“Well…” Dooley looked down at his feet nervously, “I try…at least… Yes? Maybe?”

The Heavy gave him a thoughtful look, “You are good.”

“Thank you,” he said hesitantly, “I hope he thinks the same of me.”

“You are good,” Heavy insisted, “I can tell. Sniper…was not so good. This make Heavy said.”

“Ya’ll were close?” Dooley looked up at him.

“No,” the Heavy looked at his own feet, “Not very close.” He sounded disappointed by that.

“How come?” Dooley pressed, glad to not be the only one feeling awkward.

“Ah…is complicated,” Heavy explained, “Cannot tell somebody’s hear they are wrong.”

Dooley felt his cheeks heat up as his eyebrows raised. He was beginning to see a picture that Francis apparently overlooked. This would be a much different situation had Francis known the Heavy felt something for him.

Dooley nodded, “You held affection for him.”

The Heavy raised a defensive hand, “Heavy is respectful. Heavy wishes nothing to come between Engineer and good man.” He gestured to Dooley, which made him feel a bit bashful. “Heavy wants nothing more than Francis to be happy. That makes Heavy happy.”

A dreadfully sad sensation sank into Dooley’s belly, “Wow.” He stepped towards one of the concrete blocks in a parking space to sit on it. He tilted his face down to stare at the ground between his feet. “You’re a better man than me.”

When the Heavy approached him, he crouched down, “This is not…this is not try to take Francis. Francis’ heart wants what it wants. He is good man. Smart man. Heavy is happy for him. Cannot change his heart.”

Dooley chuckled softly, with a sad smile, “Can change his mind, but not his heart.”

“Da, is true,” Heavy nodded, raising his hands again, “Not try to take boyfriend.”

“I ain’t worried about that,” Dooley insisted as he rubbed the tears from his eyes. He suddenly felt so wrong inside. Thinking back to before this, he felt like he was such a terrible person. Was he still that person now? “I just wish I was half the man you are.”

“Only just met,” Heavy insisted, “Is much you don’t know about Heavy.”

“You went for work helping people,” Dooley argued, looking up at the bigger man.

“Was for money,” Heavy shrugged it off, “Not big deal.”

“I…tried to kill a pregnant woman,” Dooley felt more tears build in his eyes as he remembered the woman and child he tried to murder. He wished he could meet her, shake her hand and tell her how sorry he was for putting her in danger. Well, he was not the only one, but he had helped make her life hell during her pregnancy. That could not have been easy. “Mann Co didn’t want a mercenary having kids they couldn’t keep control of, so they wanted to off the poor woman.”

“That is harsh,” Heavy hummed, “You are mercenary. All men here know this. Did she die?”

“No no,” Dooley shook his head, “I had my mind changed and helped…keep her girl alive. They survived. Think they moved or something. I don’t know.”

“Is good,” Heavy nodded, “You do not have worry about conscience.”

“I still tried though,” Dooley sighed.

“This is one thing?” Heavy pressed, hopeful to make it clear that it was just a small thing to worry about.

“Not the only thing,” Dooley insisted, “I uh…used to be head over heels for a Soldier.”

“Da?” Heavy pressed for him to continue.

“I just…” Dooley sighed, “After everything in my life, I wanted just a chance. He didn’t want me. I uh…I tried to respect that, but man wasn’t too bright. You know? He had his heart set on somebody else.”

“Da,” the big man nodded solemnly, “Heavy knows this feeling.”

“He had his heart set on somebody dangerous,” Dooley insisted, “Somebody with convictions. Somebody who wasn’t too trustworthy. Somebody who didn’t deserve him.”

Heavy was quiet for a few moments. He was pondering his words, probably even thinking about what they might mean. When he spoke he spoke slowly but with a soft passion. “Sometimes, convictions are good,” Heavy paused for emphasis, “Sometimes, people you think are not trustworthy give everything to earn the trust of somebody else.” There was another pause as Heavy put a hand on his shoulder, pulling on his full attention. “Relationships are not about what we deserve. Who you are with is not about whether you deserve them. If you want to be worthy of somebody, you make yourself be what they deserve. Because it is not of your choosing if they choose not to give their hear to you.”

“I…I get it but…” he turned his gaze back down to the ground.

The Heavy gave him a gentle shake, “But nothing. Listen to Heavy. Relationships are not things we deserve. They are built from friendships, trust and affection. You gave Francis the friendship, trust and affection he wanted. It doesn’t matter what you deserve, or what he deserves. That’s what he wants.” He paused, pursing his lips. “This Soldier, maybe he deserve better. Maybe not. Maybe it is not about who deserves him, but who his heart wants.”

“Yea,” Dooley sighed, “You’re right.”

“Come,” Heavy offered him a hand.

He accepted the hand and they both stood up together. The Heavy was strong enough for the two of them. He probably could have picked Dooley up off of his feet with ease.

The screeching of truck tires caught their attention. Francis’ truck peeled in and skidded to a halt at the side of the road. He came bolting towards them as fast as he could. He looked terrified, face white as his truck.

“Frank, are you alright?” Dooley called out, a bit scared.

“Zachary fell!” Frank exclaimed in a panic.

“What?” Dooley was a bit taken aback. He was not sure why this was something to panic about or who Zachary was.

“The cliffs!” Frank threw his arms up in the air, “Sniper fell off the cliff!”

“Sniper is dead?!” Heavy turned to Frank with panic on his face.

“I think not! I hope not!” that last part sounded like Frank was correcting himself.

“What’re ya’ll doing here then?” Dooley asked, feeling a bit dumbfounded.

“Dex, I need Maxwell. He needs a doctor. Heavy, I need your help lifting,” Frank requested of them.

“Da, will help,” Heavy nodded.

“I’ll go get Max,” Dooley rushed to the motel room and threw the door open. To his relief, Maxwell was there. Unfortunately, he had company. At least their clothes were on and they were just having a chat. “Maxwell!” he proclaimed.

“What?!” the German leaped to his feet in fright. The Demoman slowly got to his feet, a bit confused as to why they were standing up.

“Somebody fell off a cliff. They need a Medic there now!” he asked in a panic.

“Why are you coming to me?” Maxwell protested, taking a seat on the edge of his bed again.

“You’re a Medic!” Dooley proclaimed, “We need your help!”

“Why _my_ help? Go ask some other Medic. _They_ have an easy time finding work as doctors,” Maxwell protested bitterly.

“Come on, doc,” Dooley pleaded, hoping to appeal to Maxwell’s ego.

“Aye, sounds like you’re needed, doc,” the Demoman said, with a small burp.

“Not you too!” Maxwell rounded on his guest.

“I’ll come along,” the Demoman insisted, “You always say you wanna do Medic work. Here’s your chance.”

Nothing Dooley could have said would have worked so well as the Demoman’s words. Something about it, maybe the desire to do medical work, or perhaps the Demoman’s voice, inspired Max to get up from the bed and fetch what he had.

“Go warm up the truck, Dooley,” he gestured to his friend in dismissal.

He slowly turned around and headed back out. Seeing as Frank’s truck would only hold a couple more people, he went to start up his own truck. Frank came to meet him at the driver side door.

“Is he coming?” tears were brimming in the man’s eyes.

“Ah, yes he’s coming,” Dooley nodded, “I’ll take him and Demoman. You take Heavy.” Frank nodded slowly, seemingly trying to chock back those tears. Dooley put a hand on the side of Frank’s face, “He’s going to be okay.”

Frank put a hand over the hand on his face, “I…it’s my fault. It’s my fault he fell.”

Dooley put both hands on his face, “It’s alright. It’s alright. You can talk about what happened later. It’s okay.”

“I…I need to,” Frank pleaded. A tear escaped his eye, fleeing down the side of his nose. “I yelled at him. I yelled at him and it spooked him and…” He sniffled and shivered as more tears streaked down his face, “There’s no respawn out in this range.”

Dooley kissed his face, “It’ll be okay. We’re going to get him and Max is going to patch him up. Can Heavy drive you?” Frank nodded slowly in response. He was not able to talk right now through his crying. “Have him drive you. I’ll meet you there.”

Frank nodded, then turned from Dooley. He walked over to talk to Heavy who said nothing. He just nodded before following Frank to his truck.

Shortly after, Maxwell and the Demoman came out of the motel room. Maxwell was sporting a lab coat and all, the full attire. He was carrying a standard medigun. Demoman was carrying a box of medical supplies for him, bringing it to the truck.

“Alright, let’s save this…idiot who fell off a cliff,” Maxwell set his medigun in the back of the truck before climbing in.

“Oh boy,” the Demoman gave a teasing giggle.

Dooley ignored whatever banter was going on between them as he got into the driver’s seat. He set his mind on the cliffs and drove above the speed limits to get there. Frank and Heavy got there first, and were preparing to lower Frank over the edge. Panic struck Dooley as he ran over.

“Wait! Wait!” he waved his arms as he rushed to his boyfriend.

“What is it? We don’t have much time,” Frank insisted.

“Frank you’re out of sorts,” Dooley insisted.

“We’re out of time,” Frank said, tightening a rope around his waist.

“You’re not even thinking right!” he walked over to tug on the knot, “This ain’t even a safe knot. Your weight’s gonna pull this knot free in two minutes!” Frank looked at the knot with a numb expression. Dooley turned to Heavy, “Send me down there. I weigh less and I can focus right now.”

“Where is the idiot,” Maxwell came stomping over with the Demoman at his heels.

“Over the cliff,” Dooley quickly turned his attention back to Heavy, who was taking the rope off of Frank.

“Da, you put rope on Sniper,” Heavy said as he looped the rope around Dooley’s middle, “I pull you up. Then we pull up Sniper.”

“I’ve got extra ropes. We’ll lift him up with least issue,” Frank handed him more ropes.

“We throw down ropes,” Heavy insisted, “Too much to carry. One rope one time.”

“Got it,” Dooley carefully tied his knot.

With the Heavy’s help to keep him steady, he lowered himself over the edge of the cliff. Heavy kept a hold on the rope, while he made his way down to where the Sniper was. Thank goodness he was just within range, because Maxwell was already healing him with the medigun.

“He doesn’t look good!” the Medic called to him.

“Let’s focus on getting him up safe,” Dooley insisted. He glanced at Frank, who was looking down worriedly. No doubt the combined safety of the Sniper and the safety of his boyfriend made him very anxious right now.

He turned his attention to the Sniper. He was folded over the little protruding flora. The soft warm aura of the medigun’s rays were working on him. At least that was a sign of life.

“First rope!” the Heavy called down to him.

“Got it,” he reached up and grabbed the end that came down to him. He carefully slipped the rope around the Sniper’s middle, hooking it under his armpits. He checked to be sure the knots were tight before he let go. “Alright! Next one!”

The second rope came down and he wrapped this one around the Sniper’s legs. He was careful moving him, lest he put him off balance. He hoped the medigun’s healing did not wake him soon. If he freaked out, he could fall. “Next!”

The third rope that came down landed against his face. He did not bother with frustration, rather he hurried to get it around the Sniper. All of this shifting was causing the dead plant to creak and that was a sign of danger. At any moment, the dead tree could break away.

He double checked the knot before nodding to himself. He looked up and called out, “Alright! Pull me up!”

The Heavy hurriedly began pulling on the rope, hoisting him up. Given that gravity pulls down, this was more difficult than going the other way. He could hear the Heavy groaning under the strain of his weight. He looked up and realized that it was not the Heavy groaning. He gasped, catching onto rock, just as the rope broke. So much for being hoisted. Had this been Frank, this could have gone much worse. Granted, Frank had more muscle than Dooley did right now.

“Hang on, Dex! We’re getting another rope!” Frank called to him in a panic.

“Sure, don’t worry,” Dooley breathed carefully, while his heart pounded in his ribcage. He was safe for now, but that was terrifying.

“Hang on, Dooley!” Maxwell called to him.

The creak of the tree nearby caught Dooley’s attention. He looked at the Sniper, still completely unconscious on the dead flora. It was slightly sinking though. It was going to give away soon.

“Hoist the Sniper! Don’t worry about me! Pull up the Sniper!” he called to them in a panic.

“What?” Maxwell called down.

“Do not panic! We will bring up you!” the Heavy called.

“Don’t worry about me!” he called back, “Sniper! Get Sniper!”

“We’ll get to Sniper,” Frank called to him, “Just hang on.”

“No! I-” he looked over as he heard another creak. The Sniper’s head moved. He was waking up. “He’s waking up! He’s waking up!”

“Just hold still,” Maxwell called.

“The Sniper is waking up! That tree is gonna give out!” Dooley called to them.

“Dex, are you going to be alright?” Frank called to him.

“I’m fine,” he hugged the rock he clung to as tightly as he could, “Just get him up there!”

“Where am I?” he heard the Sniper mumble.

“Alright, let’s hoist him up,” he heard Frank say above him. He watched the ropes connected to the Sniper become taut. They hoisted him off of the tree and he began to panic.

“What is this?!” the Sniper began to kick and scream. Apparently he noticed how high up he was and was terrified.

“Hold still, boy!” Dooley called to him, “They’re gonna pull you up.”

The Sniper seemed to hear well enough that he stopped moving. When he was above Dooley’s head, he could see the man had his eyes closed tight. Likely he was terrified of falling and having to trust somebody to get him out of this situation he woke up in.


	22. A Chance to Talk it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Zachary get a chance to sit down and talk.

The relief of being on solid ground overwhelmed the Sniper. The soft earth beneath his feet reminded him that he was alive. He gave a sigh as he sank his fingers into the dying yellow grass. The fear slowly subsiding had still left his body shaking, so he warily kept himself low to the ground, currently on his hands and knees where he would not fall over.

A pair of boots came walking over. The figure knelt down and laid a hand on his back, just over his right shoulder blade. He did not care to look up and see who it was, he just tried to keep his head down and wish away the shaky sensation. He just wanted the adrenaline to die down and let him feel secure in the moment.

“Hey,” Francis’ voice was familiar and soothing. Of anything, it was the best thing he could hear right now. “You alright…Sniper?” the Engineer asked softly.

He did not want to answer. Not for want of not responding to the Engineer. He just felt so shaken that he dared not use his voice. He decided to just quietly nod his head.

“I um…” Francis hesitated, thinking about his words while he was trying to speak, “I want to talk to you about some things.”

Zachary took a deep inhale, forcing his voice to cooperate despite how weak it felt, “Is this the time for it?”

He turned his head slightly away from the Engineer. That was how he got a peek at the others. The Heavy, a Medic, a Demoman and the other Engineer were hanging back nearby. Three of them were already lost in conversation. The stout little Engineer was looking at him though. Maybe not at him the Sniper, but maybe at Francis instead. There was this look of worry about him, with his hands wringing and his lip turned in to tuck under his upper teeth.

“I don’t reckon we can let there be more time between now and when we talk,” Francis insisted. His hand rubbed the Sniper’s back. It was such a kind comfort that Zachary found himself leaning into it.

“What do you want to talk about?” Zachary found himself giving in. If for nothing more than to just hear Francis talk to him again, with that soft soothing tone of voice.

“Not here,” Francis protested. He straightened up and looked around.

Zachary looked at him. He looked over at the others. He watched how the Engineers shared a look. It was a very homely look, like they communicated so much without saying a thing. A pang of pain hit Zachary. That was once him sharing looks with Francis. That could have been him getting the sweet gaze. That should have been him all along, sharing a nod and a glance with Francis.

His lungs burned with flames that he needed to get out. In hopes of exerting that energy, he rushed to his feet. He regretted it just as fast, finding that he was still shaky and a little light-headed.

“Take it easy, partner,” the Engineer put an assuring hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll take it easy,” he yanked his shoulder away with a growl of disdain. It should have been him watching Francis’ every move longingly.

“I…uh…let me take you to the diner,” Francis suggested.

“Why?” he looked away, trying to avoid that heavenly smile.

“You look like you could use a meal…and I want to talk,” Francis insisted, “I just want to talk.”

Zachary was surprised, even though he should not be, when his stomach responded to the thought of food with a growl. He was too hungry to argue, considering he had yet to have a scrap to eat that day. Rationing what food he had for the month had taken a toll on his eating habits. A big meal would likely ruin him, but it would be worth it for a decent meal that would lead to a solid few hours of sleep.

“Fine,” he replied, before grabbing his arm, “But I’m driving my truck.”

“That’s fair,” Francis walked over to the others, digging keys out of his pocket. Zachary could not hear what he was saying, but he must have been telling something to them. There were a few nods before he returned. “I’m riding in your truck,” he explained.

“Right…good,” Zachary hesitated before digging out his keys. He turned and started walking towards the camper. He had parked a ways out, not wanting to disturb what flora was still alive. Unlike the others, who tore their tires through the soft earth and pulled right up near the Cliffside, he was much more careful with where he put his vehicle.

Francis walked alongside him. It had been so long since they walked together like this. He could not remember the last time. It must have been after a fight, when they were headed back to base for a rest. The memory was like an ancient relic.

He walked around to the driver’s side, while Francis climbed into the passenger’s seat. The two of them were as silent as ever. It was peaceful like Zachary remembered it. After latest developments, he was all too aware that this was not as peaceful to Francis as it was to Zachary. These times of quiet were apparently not what he wanted.

“You have uh…” Zachary tried to think of something to talk about as he started up the truck, “You look good.”

He wanted to punch himself in the face for that. A stupid line like that would only make Francis confused. Francis did not care about what others thought about his appearance, not even Zachary. The most he ever really cared was that time he was trying to decide if he should grow his facial hair out or not, and asked for opinions on it.

“Thanks,” was the moderate response.

The Sniper felt just a little bit of relief with that. At least he responded to what he was saying, instead of leaving him hanging with it. He already felt so foolish for saying such a thing.

The rest of a drive was in silence. Two trucks followed behind his camper. He watched them in his side view mirror, curious about who was driving each truck. As they pulled into town, the two trucks pulled off towards the motel parking lot.

“Here?” he asked the Engineer.

“No no,” Francis gestured towards the road, “Keep going. The diner’s just up ahead.”

Zachary nodded silently and proceeded down the road. He followed the Engineer’s directions and pulled into the diner. Of course, he should have remembered the little diner. It was the only one in this tiny town. Then again, he rarely had money to eat out anymore. He lived off of dry and canned rations that he packed away when he did have money.

They climbed out of the truck and headed inside. Zachary started following Francis now, who seemed rather comfortable with this place. He even had a regular table that he sat at. They were sat down at that special table, but when the waitress left, the silence grew thicker. He ended up staring at his hands too, just wishing the silence would end and that this feeling of needing to say something would subside.

“I’m sorry,” Francis’ voice was low and soft. It was like warm butter, sweet enough to be pleasant. “I’m sorry it…ended…the way that it did,” Francis went on, “I got caught up. I forgot our friendship. I just…” Francis sighed like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders. “There’s no excuse for what I did. I’m just sorry that I did it.”

Zachary stared hard at his hands. His heart was pounding hard. The heaviness of it was forcing him to focus on his breathing. It was an effort to keep himself from breathing more heavily.

“I’ve been…” Francis was setting aside his helmet, “I’ve been caught up in a lot of things lately. Work’s busting my ass. I’ve been getting to know this area. That shouldn’t have distracted me from our friendship.”

“It’s fine,” Zachary could not look up. It was too much pressure to look up. It was safer to keep his eyes down at the table.

Francis let out another sigh, “This is what I was fed up with.”

Zachary glanced at him and immediately regretted it. It was hard to try and make eye contact with a man who was just fed up with him. He never thought Francis would ever remind him of his father. A man too tired and too fed up to just come out and tell him how shitty he was.

“You just…passively let people talk…and let everything go past you like it means nothing,” Francis said in earnest.

“That’s not true,” Zachary immediately hesitated after his protest.

“Name a time when you didn’t just let it slide,” Francis requested, “Name one time you weren’t a passive participant.”

Zachary hesitated. He did not want to participate in this conversation. It was about him and what he had done wrong. How was he supposed to know it was wrong back then though? It was not inherently wrong, it was just passive. But, to Francis it was wrong to be that way.

“At least say something about it,” Francis insisted sternly.

Zachary shrugged, unsure of what to say, “Say what?”

“Anything!” Francis scoffed, his hands held out in a look of loss.

“I don’t understand what you want from me, Engie,” Zachary protested.

“I just…” Francis sighed and rubbed the back of his head. He looked like he was just fed up with everything.

Zachary looked away, “I didn’t want to make you upset. I never meant to make you mad.”

“I know you didn’t,” Francis’ voice was calmer this time around, “You just…you can’t just expect life to slide by you. Things don’t just fall into place. You have to initiate the action.”

“No, I don’t,” Zachary was not sure what it meant, but he was not going to take being told what to do.

“Yes, you do,” Francis pressed, “You need to enact something! You need to initiate something for once in your goddamn life!”

“Fine,” Zachary stood up. He was not sure what he was doing but he was doing something. That was initiating something, wasn’t it? “I’ll do something then,” he stepped out of the booth, “I’ll initiate the act of ditching you.”

Francis tried to backpedal fast, “Zachary, that’s not what I-”

“You want me to initiate something, then I’ll initiate it,” he turned towards the door but was stopped by the hand that took his sleeve.

“Sit down,” Francis ordered, “Let’s have a few beers.”

He was in no mood to argue, not with free beer. The waitress came and went before he even had a chance to think about what he was doing. He just sat back down and became focused on the lines in the table top.

Francis sighed and leaned back in his seat, “You look like you’ve starved yourself.”

Zachary made a sound of agreement. He was not very happy with his rations situation.

“You making end’s meat?” the Engineer asked.

He was too embarrassed to say no. What man could not take care of himself? He just shrugged and tried to play it off in silence.

“Damn,” Francis breathed, apparently seeing right through the Sniper’s attempted façade.

“There’s no more call ins,” Zachary mumbled, “No work, no pay.”

“No pay means no income,” Francis replied, “I get it.”

There was a sigh and a long silence. Before Zachary knew it, they were receiving beers. He was not even sure he saw the waitress come.

“Come on,” Francis pushed the other foaming mug towards him, “Have a beer with me.”

Zachary took the mug by its handle and raised it up. His eyes rose to meet Francis’ gaze. He became embarrassed as his gaze landed upon that sweet smile. His heart ached upon the memory that it was not a smile for him anymore. He was sweet on somebody else and would never look at Zachary the same way ever again.

As he looked at the foam built up around the surface of the beer, he wondered what he did wrong. Maybe if he had voiced his thoughts a bit more. Maybe if he tried to talk a bit more. Maybe if he had peeled himself out of his shell. Things might have been different and this might have been an entirely different situation. It was not any of his dream though, this was a conversation with a man he still loved and cherished, telling him what he did wrong and how they would never be together again.

“You never did give me a chance to kiss you instead,” he could not help but be bitter, setting his mug down. He did not look up though, certain that he would only be met by glaring eyes.

“What? What the hell does that mean?” the Engineer’s accusatory tone was telling, “I gave chance after chance. Hell…we were together twenty damn years! I’ve known married couples who didn’t last that long! You mean to tell me that you think in all that time you had no chance to kiss me?”

Zachary winced. Francis was right, as usual. He was quick as a whip and smarter than most men he knew. There was not much that got past him. Especially when empty claims were made.

“How was I supposed to know you wanted me to kiss you?” he stared into his beer, which only seemed to grow stale as it sat there waiting for him to drink.

“We were in a darned relationship, Zachary,” Francis said pointedly, “I stopped pulling you closer because you kept pulling away and being distant.”

In his peripheral vision, he could see the Engineer. He was looking down at his drink now. His lower jaw jutted out a bit as his lips pursed into an angry pout. He looked pissed off, but not the kind of pissed off where he would break something, but the time when he would spend more time ruminating on how everything was stupider than him.

“You kept…being distant. It got harder to keep trying and trying,” Francis said, his tone empty and hollow.

Zachary sighed and took a swig of his beer. It went down warm, reminding him of what could have been a happy feeling in his belly. Instead, it finished with a sad aftertaste. And still, that sad look on the Engineer reminded him of what _he_ had become. To Francis, he was no longer a loved one.

“So, why are we talking? Why are we here?” Zachary inquired.

“Well,” Francis took another swig of beer and wiped his face with a napkin, “I did wrong…by turning my back on what we had. We were friends. Remember?”

Zachary nodded, “Yea, I remember.”

“Think that we can be friends again?” Francis offered a hand over the table.

Zachary stared at the hand. It hovered over the table, asking for contact. If he reached over, he could hold that hand, as it shook agreement to their relationship as friends.

It took him a while to truly wrap his head around the concept. They would not be that close anymore, but they would be friends. He could spend time with Francis again. Maybe he could feel less alone now. Then again, how could he spend any time with Francis after the past twenty years of feeling so close to him? He could not possibly spend time with him and not feel it as romantic. His heart ached as he reached over, clasping the hand that was offered. At least it made Francis smile, pleased that he had fixed something. He liked fixing things, after all.

“Here you boys go,” the waitress came and placed rack of ribs in front of each of them. Zachary did not remember ordering anything. Then again, Francis was good at picking things he would like to eat. He was not a picky man, generally the type who enjoyed a hearty meat based meal with beans or some form of vegetable.

“Thank you kindly,” Francis said, as she placed his plate before him.

“If you boys need anything else, let me know,” she said, before she dismissed herself.

“Thanks, ma’am,” Francis nodded, waiting for her to leave.

Zachary debated eating the ribs or eating some of the sweet potato that came with it. Both looked and smelled appetizing. It was just a matter of what would go down his gullet first.

“If I could change how it all went- oops!” Francis was pulling something from his pocket, when he suddenly dropped it.

It slid to Zachary’s boot, so when Francis got up to get it, Zachary slid out of the booth to help. He picked up the device curiously. He was not sure what it did, but he was sure it was something that the Engineer fiddled with on a daily basis nowadays. It was probably one of his projects.

“I was gonna say,” Francis stood before him, quietly staring at the device in Zachary’s hand, “If you don’t have a phone, I’ll lend you this one.”

Francis finally looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes shot right through him, sending a pang through his heart. Damn the world and its fated ending for this relationship. Damn everything that said they were not meant to be. Damn himself for not taking every chance in those twenty years to kiss that face.

His free hand took the front of Francis’ button up shirt. Surprise hit his face, but Zachary could not explain himself. He was not really thinking about what he was doing. He was just acting upon what should have been instinct by now.

He pulled him closer and bent down. His face met Francis’ face, meshing their lips together. He could feel his heard pounding in his chest, aching for this moment. He could feel the warmth of life in Francis’ lips, as they moved with his.

The light-headed thrill had Zachary seeing stars. He could not believe what he was doing, but the chance was worth it. It felt good, now that he had done it. He just wondered why he never tried it in all those years he spent sitting close to Francis.

He did not want to pull away. The taste of beer lingered between their lips, along with the taste of something else. He assumed it was just what Francis normally tasted like. He could not remember with that kiss they shared. Was it even a kiss he could have tasted? It was a fairly chaste kiss if he remembered correctly.

Francis had wanted this for so long, but had not pushed Zachary’s comfort zone. He had wanted intimacy and longed for the taste. For putting up with him for twenty years he deserved that once.

The high feeling spiraled downwards as he began to realize how dirty he was. He was not worthy of Francis. He had twenty years to chance it, and now he was not even worth the time. He had not had work in a month, but that did not mean that he had not sucked too many dicks to count in the past year. What was his kiss worth to Francis after all of that? He felt disgusting and pitied himself for the moment.

The kiss broke with a soft sound. There was nothing said between them. Zachary slowly released Francis’ shirt and watched as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Francis did not meet his gaze, keeping his eyes lower than Zachary’s face, “Are you done?”

Those words bit into Zachary’s heart like a beast’s teeth. He looked on as the need to cry built up under his exterior façade.

“We’re not together anymore,” the Engineer said sternly, “You can’t kiss me.”

“Yea,” he did not know what else to say as he turned his eyes down to the floor.

“What the hell is this?!” both of them were startled by the Texan who came stomping over to their table. His arms flailed angrily and his face was turning red.

“Dex, I can explain,” Francis turned to the man with his hands up defensively.

“I don’t want excuses! What the hell, Frank?!” the man’s anger flared in his face.

“It’s not an excuse- I…please,” Francis clasped his hands together in a silent plea.

There were a few long moments of silence. The two of them stared at each other for a long time. The tension was taut like a rope. It was Zachary’s fault and he could already see the consequences of what he did. He was sure that he would not even realize what happened before Francis was storming out of his life again.

A forlorn sigh caused the tension to relax. Both men relaxed, their muscles loosening and their postures shifting. The shorter man looked away, giving the nearby Medic a wary look. Zachary had not even noticed the Medic, who stood with a Demoman, a Scout and a Heavy. When did they get here?

“Fine, explain it to me later,” the short man looked to Francis then looked at Zachary warily. There was a begrudging glare in his eyes, like a man ready to fight. Zachary wished he had his kukri at his belt so that he could defend himself if the other man pulled out a melee weapon.

“Thank you, Dex,” the soft response almost sounded sad coming from Francis’ throat.

“Be glad I love you too much,” the shorter man’s face was turning red as he turned away and strode towards the other men looking at them.

Zachary sat down at the booth with his beer and ribs. No matter how much he hunched his shoulders, he could not make himself small enough. He could never make himself disappear, not in the way he wanted to vanish. Now more than ever, he wished he could just suddenly disappear from Francis’ life and forget the humiliation of humiliating him.

For the first time in a long time, he contemplated the cliffs. Dangling over the edge, he had been in a mindset of fear that drove him to stay calm and survive. For a long time, he had managed to survive. He had managed to get through everything in his adult life like an adult should. He had not had the sudden itch to drive himself into oblivion since he was just a boy running around the outback terrain near his parents’ house. Back then, it seemed so trivial to be so desperately depressed, wanting so badly to disappear. At least back then he had his parents who loved him, he had his home to hold onto, he had the animals to comfort him, and he had the space to run away from his problems. When you are an adult, you cannot simply run away from your problems, not without leaving behind more problems for people you care about.

Francis slowly sat down. He was a bit shaky, maybe with rage at Zachary’s actions, maybe with fear for what the shorter man might do later. Either way, that kiss made a problem for him that should not exist anyways.

He had to remember how stupid he was now and forever. Zachary had messed up for twenty long years. Now, he was messing up all over again. At least if he had kissed him at a time when others were not around, Francis could forgive him for there not being an audience to witness the act.

“Fuck’s sake, Sniper,” Francis breathed, “I’m trying to fix a friendship, not get back together.”

“I’m sorry,” the tears could no longer be held back, and filled his eyes with a stinging sensation. A lump formed in his throat and he felt no more strength to speak.

Francis made some noises, like he was frustrated and thinking. He did not formulate any words or seem to know what to think. He just sort of made sounds for a while.

When the sounds ended, the Engineer took a deep breath. “Look, eat something. Maybe you will think straighter with your stomach full,” was the Engineer’s reasoning.

Zachary quietly nodded before picking up a rack of ribs. That was how they spent the rest of the evening, just quietly eating. It was nice, in a way. It reminded him of better times. For now, he could at least enjoy a little time with his only friend, even if he might never have a friend again.


	23. Under the Natural Lights of the Night

“Reel it back for me,” Dexter said, popping an onion ring into his mouth, “So he took it as his opportunity to kiss you.”

“Yup,” Francis was so embarrassed, his face was hot. He leaned his face against his palm and his elbow on the table.

“He had twenty of them damn years to kiss you before!” Dex exclaimed frantically.

“I know,” Francis tried to hide more of his face.

“What did he think? Did he think it would be okay?” Dex was going off in frustration.

“I don’t know,” Francis groaned, wishing he could just make everybody forget what they saw. It was not just Dex, as a few other mercenaries had been privy to the incident.

“Did he think that nobody would be upset by this? That this would just happen and nobody would talk about it ever again? Come on!” Dex threw his hands up in exasperation.

“I don’t know,” Francis felt so small. The feeling of having betrayed his lover was scrunching him down to a puny size smaller than any ragdoll.

“It’s just ridiculous, you know? It is unbelievable,” Dex went on, “Where did he think it would go?”

“I don’t know,” Francis repeated the same reply. He had no idea what was going through the Sniper’s mind. He certainly was not thinking about how Francis felt, or how he would feel about a kiss.

“Did he think he was going to change anything?” Dex asked in frustration.

“I don’t know,” Francis covered his head with his hands, trying to imagine himself shrinking down to the size of a cricket.

“And what if I hadn’t even been there to witness it? Huh? What would have happened then? Would this have all just been a secret?” Dex’s voice suddenly changed from frustrated to soft and concerned, “Frank? Are you alright.”

Francis lowered his hands. He took a deep breath, careful not to gulp it into his lungs. He placed his hands calmly on the table to show a quiet temperament. He did not feel quiet on the inside.

“I would want to tell you,” he said. His voice was softer and more choked than he intended.

“Frank,” Dex reached out and put a hand on his forearm.

“I would tell you,” he forced his eyes up to meet Dex’s face. That was when he realized that his vision was blurry with tears.

“Frank,” Dex slipped out of his side of the booth to join Frank on his side. He used his thumbs to try and dry Francis’ eyes.

“I would tell you about it,” he insisted, “I would be as embarrassed as I am now, but I would tell you.”

“Maybe not as embarrassed,” Dex gave a light-hearted chuckle, “Not if you had not been caught by somebody.”

“You only said if you were not witness,” Francis argued.

“Frank,” Dex said softly, pulling Francis into a hug, “I’m not mad at you. It ain’t your fault.”

“I know that but…I just…” Francis struggled to get through the words.

“It’s okay. It was just a kiss,” Dex insisted.

“It’s not that,” Francis wrapped his arms tightly around Dexter.

They were quiet for a while, just sitting there in each other’s embrace. It felt nice to be held like this. And to hold Dexter was a familiar warmth for his arms.

What felt wrong was his guilt. He did not want to think about why he was guilty. He did not want to think about why it was so wrong. He wanted to bury it and move on. Even suggesting it could create problems in his new relationship and confusion for his old friend. Besides, it was not fair that it happened. It was not something he asked for or wanted at the time. It was not something he wanted again, not when it came to logical reality.

A refreshing yet terrifying spark came out of that kiss. It was not instantaneous, but rather something he could feel forming while he thought about it. Those warm feelings bubbling up as memories of old times spent at the RED base with the Sniper and his camper wafted around his mind. The much harsher reality that he was with Dexter and that real feeling of betraying Dexter was as every bit terrifying as the sheer insinuation that he had no say in his own feelings.

Now knowing that feelings could still be lingering there, and slowly grew stronger with nostalgic memories, it was impossible to think that he could return to friendship. Sniper had instigated the memory of a feeling so powerful that it would be another betrayal to Dexter to even consider it. It belonged buried, deep under layers of self-scrutiny and the reminder that he was still in love with Dexter Dooley.

“Come on,” Dex released the hug, his hands squeezing Francis’ upper arms, “Let’s get out of here. We’ll just go eat barbeque on the tailgate.”

“I don’t think I can stomach barbeque right now,” Francis remembered the rack of ribs that he bought himself and the Sniper.

“We’ll find something else for you to eat,” Dex took his arm and led him from the booth.

 

 

He was not soon forgetting the memory of the feeling. It intermingled with the guilt of betraying Dexter’s love. Sorting out these feelings became an impossible fete. The mix matched signals and chemicals in his brain working out the various ways this affected him were causing him a headache just to think about it. He could not stop thinking about it though. Every part of him wondered just why it happened. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he had led the Sniper on, bringing him to that inevitable moment between them. This wasn’t the Sniper’s fault, this was Francis’ own fault for leading him down a foolish path with rants about the past.

Of course the Sniper did not understand. He never understood back then what it meant to be a couple. He just sort of took it as staying buddies who hung out together. It was more like a status than anything that changed things between them. That in and of itself should have cued Francis in on how naïve the Sniper was to this topic.

With that foolishness, coupled with Francis’ desire to vent to the man who caused him so much frustration, he managed to set up that scenario. The fact that he did not see it coming must have been his own foolishness and blindness. Of course the Sniper kissed him, as he had been led to believe that was what he was supposed to do in this situation.

The ache to be with his old friend ate at a rotten part of his heart. It made him realize just how rotten he must be. To have left the Sniper the way he did. To have treated him that way without telling him all of the things that had bothered him outright. To have brought him here and led him on with those rants.

He got up from bed, leaving Dex alone to sleep on the cot of blankets. Beneath the stars in the back of the truck they were alone. It was the two of them and the night sky. It was a peaceful existence, not unlike the one the Sniper always seemed to imagine for them. Just the two of them, alone, out on an empty plain.

Granted, with Dex there was always at least one friend. Maxwell was a good friend to have, even if he tended to show his friendliness in obscure ways. He was a grouchy man, but never failed to pull through when they needed a hand with his skills. In fact, he seemed to relish in moments where he got to be the Medic, taking the chance to tend to a wound.

All the same, he was here instead of with the Sniper. Had things gone differently, perhaps if he had not thrown a huge tantrum the day he arrived in this town, things would be a lot different. Looking at the sleeping form of his lover, he wondered if that was for better or for worse. He wanted to hope that this was better. He was with Dexter Dooley, a man with the same mindset as himself and a big heart. He was everything that Francis could ever want, and then some.

He took a deep breath as he scooted down towards the tail gate. He slipped off the edge, letting the blankets trail behind him. The air was crisp and cold against his skin, but he did not mind. It felt good to be out where nature felt more alive, even if it was close to the cliffs. Out here, he could just relax and enjoy life as it was, and right now he felt like he needed it more than ever before.

He approached the edge of the cliff. This was not the same area where he had nearly caused Zachary to fall to his death- where he had caused Zachary to fall, which almost resulted in his death. Still, there was a familiar feeling, with the guilty thoughts bubbling up from the depths. He did not want to move away from them though. Instead, he decided to sit down on the edge and think about what they meant to him.

He almost lost Zachary forever during his own rant. He was angry and could not seem to get reconciliation for it. He could not get anything out of Zachary, not without making a huge fool of the two of them. Perhaps that was just how things were meant to be though, and if he pushed Zachary for more, there would be more foolishness to come.

If anything, he had learned never to have a conversation like that near the cliff side again. He would have to be mindful of others being distracted. If he became the cause of somebody’s actual death, he was not sure he could live with himself. Especially with the threat having been to Zachary’s life.

His heart swelled when his mind went back to Dex. He looked back at the truck, where the other man was fast asleep in the back. He had risked his own life to save Zachary, even with very little knowledge about who he was and why he was over the edge. He saw how much panic and terror was in Francis, and he had risked himself to save his friend. He would never be able to express enough gratitude for that, especially not after the incident that followed.

He covered his face with his hands. He was so embarrassed, even in the presence of nobody. There could be absolutely nobody around to know what he was thinking about and he was still embarrassed.

He leaned his elbows on his lap and pressed his face into his hands. It was not right. This was not the way things were supposed to go. He was the friendly guy, a friend to all people. Why was he fucking up friendships and making everything so wrong? Why was everything getting turned upside down.

He growled in frustration and threw himself back. Flopped down in the dying grass, he looked up at the stars. He could see the wispy shadows of some small cloud formations overhead, mostly because they caused some stars to blink out of existence. Slowly moving, it slowly covered some stars he was able to see before, but in its wake, other stars appeared at the tail end. He admired the cloud’s slow but determined movement, as the tiny lights disappeared and reappeared at the other end. It was therapeutic, just to watch it move and to focus on the vibrant balls of gas burning light years away.

He wondered what the likelihood of those stars being alive for the next few generations. Many of them might be dead already, but their light would be shining to planet earth for centuries to come. That in itself seemed like a wondrous thing. What a magnificent understanding that because of the properties of light, stars would forever shine on after they die. A human being lives in this moment and then dies to be forgotten.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Zachary stared up at the stars, wondering how many miles it would take for them to look any different than they looked here. Somehow, he was back in the parking lot. Somehow, he was back where he had started that morning. It felt worse because now he had actually seen Francis, and he had messed things up royally.

There really was not a way he could make things better. He had done some things that were not to Francis’ liking. He had made Francis _tolerate_ their relationship for twenty years. Considering how much he had enjoyed those twenty years, it hurt so bad.

Those twenty years were no longer good memories. They were toxic now. They were infected with the words that told him the truth about how Francis felt. He was trapped in that relationship, feeling like there was no reason to leave, but nothing that sustained his love there.

That happiest years of Zachary’s life had come and gone. Now they were destroyed. The demolition left him feeling so angry and frustrated. It hurt like nothing else. The inevitable rationality was that there were no good times for Zachary, only lies about his existence as a filthy creature that nobody wanted around. He was a leech on their good happy lives and deserved nothing less than what he was getting.

“Sniper is up all night?” a voice interrupted the usually quiet of the night. It was surprisingly close and made him jump.

He carefully peeked over the edge of his camper. Seated on top, he was mostly out of view of most men standing on the ground. The mountain of a man stood below, a few mere decimeters shy of the top edge of the camper. He looked up at the Sniper expectantly, with blue-gray eyes that were amazingly well lit beneath the stars.

“Is not good to not sleep,” the Heavy insisted.

The Sniper heaved a heavy sigh, mostly to ease his own nerves, “I’ll sleep under the stars. Thank you.”

The Heavy looked up, as if seeing the sparkling lights above for the first time. There was a patient and contemplative look in his gaze. He met the Sniper’s look, much the way one might look at some pathetic animal. That was when Zachary started backing away from the camper’s edge.

“Is lovely night,” the Heavy admitted in a strangely soft tone he had never heard from the man’s mouth before.

Zachary looked up again, “Yes, it is.”

“It would be sad to miss,” the Heavy grabbed a hold of a chair Zachary had left out and took a seat in it. It looked like the man was intending to hang around for longer than Zachary wanted.

“I was hoping to enjoy it in silence,” Zachary said pointedly, hoping to get rid of the man.

“Okay,” the Heavy responded. Upon this note, he fell silent, dedicated to the Sniper’s want for quiet.

He did not feel very clever or smart. He was not sure how else he could make the man leave. He could only sit there and wait, in hopes that he might eventually go away on his own. Maybe he would seek out a bed, then he would leave Zachary in peace. For now, he was going to sit on the chair and star gaze.

He accepted the reality, backing away from the edge of the camper. He tried to imagine that the Heavy left him as he laid back down. Maybe in the next few minutes he would get up and leave. He had to get bored sooner or later.


	24. The Last Available Sniper

When Zachary woke the next morning, he was surprised to find himself on top of the camper instead of inside. He looked around and found that one of his chairs was outside. In that chair was a big hulking beast of a man. He was snoring softly, but the sound was still quite loud. There was no way that sound went unheard.

He was careful not to make too much noise, lest he woke the Heavy. He climbed down the ladder and secured his feet in the dead grass. Much to his surprise, the snoring had stopped. A feeling of panic rose up in him. When he attempted to move, his boot slipped out from under him in the dew moistened grass. He heard the creaking of the chair and movement of feet, but he did not see. He did not need to see. He just got up and ran.

He did not even see where the Heavy was going. He could barely see what was going on around him. It was not as if the sun was up yet. It was still dark. That made it all the more terrifying when the Heavy rounded the front of the truck and became an obstacle he ran into.

He yelped just before impact. He was horrified at what just happened. He did not even have a chance to catch his balance. His hand almost caught the mirror, but his fingers slipped and he fell onto his backside.

“Sniper?” the Heavy asked confusedly.

Zachary scrambled to his feet in an attempt to run away again. As he started to flee, a big hand grabbed his arm. Terror caused him to recoil and try to weigh as much as possible. He came back with a swing of the fist from his opposite hand. The other hand grabbed that wrist before the fist could make an impact.

“Sniper!” the Heavy exclaimed, “You are awake!”

Zachary closed his eyes. He did not want to be awake. He did not want to be standing. He did not want to be around the big man. He did not want to see what would happen.

“Sniper, is okay,” the big man released Zachary’s arms, but suddenly threw his big arms around him. Zachary was unwittingly pulled into a hug. “Is okay,” the Heavy spoke softly, “Is bad dream.”

Zachary pulled away, but there was nowhere he could go. He was trapped in a cage of big arms. They were big warm arms, soft to the touch really. It was like being hugged by a great big teddy bear. A familiar terror buzzed in his mind as he silently flailed for freedom.

“Was bad dream,” the Heavy told him sternly, “Sniper is safe. Dream not real.”

Slowly he stopped thrashing. There was not much he could do anyways. He was not going to get anywhere, not with how strong Heavy was. Then again, Heavy was strongly hugging him but nothing else. His brain wrapped around why he was hugging him, but he could not come up with a reason, not a rational reason. There were certainly no reasons that his exhaustion addled brain had been hinging on in its instinctual panic.

He stood there in Heavy’s arms, slowly panting. He felt silly, as he realized what his situation was. He did not even understand why the Heavy was embracing him. Why was he just standing there holding onto the Sniper?

“Could you let go of me now?” he slowly looked up at the man’s face.

Heavy silently released him, letting his arms fall to his sides. They stood there for a long minute, silent and unsure of what to do. Neither of them even moved away from the other. They just sort of waited for this moment to pass, but they were still standing there and the moment would not leave.

“Um,” Zachary cleared his throat.

“Sniper has bad dreams?” the Heavy inquired.

“Uh…” he was not sure how to answer. It was not the kind of question people asked him. At least, if they were not Francis they did not ask that. Francis used to hold him when he suddenly woke from nightmares in a fit of confusion.

Heavy set a hand on Zachary’s shoulder, “Is alright. Is normal.”

“I thought you uh…went…uh…wherever it is that you stay,” he said, glancing around for an out.

Heavy was frowning with concern, “Engineer was concerned about Sniper.”

“Engineer?” he flinched in surprise. He paused to think about this. There were two Engineers that he saw yesterday, Francis and the man he was with. That could mean either one, but there was no doubt that it was Francis.

“Heavy stay to keep eye on Sniper,” Heavy patted his shoulder.

“I am a grown man,” he tried to brush the big hand away, “I can take care of myself.”

“Engineer thinks not,” the Heavy said as Zachary took the opportunity to walk around the front of the truck to the chair which would otherwise make up a campsite. He could hear the big man following me, keeping just a few paces behind him. “Didn’t know what Sniper might do,” Heavy explained.

“So, Francis asked _you_ to come here and check on me?” he barely glanced over his shoulder at the Heavy.

“No,” Heavy replied simply.

“Oh,” he could not help but turn this time, a bit confused. He had expected this to have been set up by Francis, if anyone.

“He was upset,” Heavy explained, “Sniper starving and in bad situation. Is frightening.”

“So why didn’t he come here himself?” he picked up the chair and tossed it into his camper. Why he did not just leave the day before was beyond him.

“Sniper did a bad thing,” the Heavy said sternly, “Make Engineer’s little Engineer upset.”

“So?” he slammed the door.

“Engineer forced to choose friend or love,” Heavy explained.

“So, he picked that guy over me,” Zachary grumbled.

He glanced around and found his glasses in the seat of his truck and put them on. His hat was nowhere to be found though. After everything that happened the day before, he was not sure that he would ever find it.

“Could not choose,” Heavy said, “But Engineer needs love. Heavy said Heavy would come see Sniper.”

“That’s comforting,” Zachary replied sarcastically. He slammed the passenger door shut loudly. If the man was not noticing his attitude yet, surely he would get it when Zachary peeled out of the auction house parking lot.

“Sniper is not in good place to drive,” the Heavy pleaded with him.

“I’m fine, mate,” he checked his glasses in the side view mirror.

“Is worrisome,” the Heavy argued.

“I’m off,” Zachary did not give him another look as he headed around the truck.

“Sniper!” some other voice called.

“I said I’m off!” Zachary barked, not quite registering the new voice.

“Sniper, we need you for a shoot!” a man came running after him, chasing him around the front of his truck.

“I didn’t get a call,” Zachary protested, still holding up his keys.

“No, we had a lot of Snipers turn up sick,” the man explained, “We’re supposed to do the shoot today. It’s the only time we have available, and you’re the only Sniper who hasn’t turned up sick.”

“нет,” the Heavy grabbed the man’s shoulder, pulling him away from Zachary, “Sniper is unwell.”

“I’m fine, mate,” Zachary growled irritably. He was tired of this man telling him how he was.

“The last Sniper is sick?” the man looked confusedly from Heavy to Sniper. There was desperation in his face.

Heavy shook his head, “No more Sniper. Little man find other mercenary.”

“I’ll do it,” Zachary spoke out of spite.

“For real? You’re not sick or anything? Nothing contagious?” the man asked, worriedly clinging to his clipboard.

“Nothing at all,” Zachary shifted, eyeing the man from behind his yellow lenses, “You have to double the pay though.”

“What? But…double the pay? We can’t possibly do that!” the man scoffed, flinging his clipboard down to smack against his side.

“Then I guess you’re out of Snipers,” Zachary said, “Best of luck.”

“Fine! We’ll double the pay!” the man quickly scribbled something on a clipboard with his pen. After a few moments he turned it so that Zachary could see, “Read it and sign!”

He glanced over the paper, looking for the amount. The original amount was a decent amount that normally could get him by. Seeing as his condition was rough, having double the amount was just what he needed to get by. He could fairly take care of himself for this price. This one job would set him for the month. He signed the contract and followed as the man dragged him along.

The Heavy said nothing but he did follow. They made their way into the old auction house to the ring. It was already cleared of whoever had been using it before. Cameras were set and new set pieces were being set. It was surprisingly silken looking. What appeared to be a bed had been put in the ring. He had learned from working here that you do not take anything at face value though. It could easily be straw with cheap silk knock off blankets covering it. On the bed was set a round table-like piece that held an unrevealed platter.

“There you are! Is this the only Sniper you could get?” a man who looked like he _might_ be the director. Zachary was not very good at telling who was who when it came to these crews.

“He’s the only one who wasn’t sick,” the crewman who was leading him.

“He’s perfect!” another voice butted in.

Zachary was taken aback and even flinched away when a Spy appeared. He was dressed in a blue attire and was drawing near. His lips curled up, revealing his white teeth. His eyes took the chance to look him up and down, as if he was perhaps something to be weighed and measured.

“He looks like he slept in that,” the director-looking crewman said, regarding the Sniper with disgust.

“I didn’t have time to change,” Zachary protested, an empty plea to be left alone.

“God, somebody get the costumer,” the director person called out.

Zachary was ushered around the ring to sit on a bench. A screen was being put up for changing in privacy. He did not understand why, since he would be naked enough for them to all see every inch of him. He was handed clothes that were still on hangars and ushered into the makeshift changing room. Without making a fuss about it, he quickly got changed for the job.

Much to his surprise it was an altered version of what most Snipers might otherwise wear. The red shirt was stitched with the _long sleeves_ pulled up, to look like they had been rolled up. The usually modest collar fell into a purposeful V neck that did not permit any buttoning up, which revealed some of his chest hair. The vest was normal yet lighter than the leather it was imitating. It was designed to look like it had useful pockets as well, none of which he was able to utilize, as they were all stitched shut. The pants were uncomfortable since they did not fit him properly, having been sized for a shorter and slightly thicker Sniper. The pants wanted to slip right off of his butt, which revealed things. When he pulled up on them, they revealed his socks to above his ankles, and when he let them fall, they revealed the dirty over-due-for-a-wash long johns.

He was left feeling exposed and uncomfortable. He reasoned that this was no different from any other porn situation. This was just the one time they utilized costuming because his own attire was worse for wear.

When he stepped out, he was seated again on a bench. Somebody gave him a belt to lash his pants to his hips. Somebody began grooming and pulling on his hair, while somebody else started fussing over his unkempt nails. He was not very comfortable with all of this.

“Do you think this is really necessary? Don’t we need to start the shoot?” he inquired fretfully.

“It can wait, mon ami,” the Spy interrupted his worrying.

He cringed away from the Spy, “Do you mind, mate?”

“Not at all,” the Spy smiled, that cat-like grin that annoyed the Sniper.

“Go away,” Zachary growled irritably.

The Spy clicked his tongue and raised both hands defensively. “I’m not being offensive, mon ami,” the Spy defended himself, “I’m just admiring how stylish you look with that shirt.”

“Sniper said go away,” the Heavy’s voice boomed overhead.

He looked at the Heavy Weapons Guy, then back at the Spy, who was intimidated by the big man. He felt like telling off the Heavy, but honestly he was more comfortable with the big man defending him than the Spy who just felt creepy.

He let the crew finish his costume. He watched as they teased and adjusted his hair. They did not seem to be able to get it to do what they wanted it to do. In general, he just let it do what it wanted to do.

When they were finished, he was ushered to the auction ring. It seemed even more surreal when he stepped inside. It was just so unreal that there was a whole bed was in the ring, along with fancy bedsheets and décor. It seemed odd that such a place like this would be used.

“Alright, alright,” the director stepped in with the Spy.

“It looks beautiful,” the Spy commented, much to the Sniper’s surprise, “Give the decorating team my congratulations on simulating something so romantic and soft.”

“Yea, well we need you two to set the atmosphere right,” the director explained, turning to the Sniper, “You get to take on the commanding role.”

“Commanding role?” Sniper echoed. He was not sure what that would mean. He had an idea of what it meant, but he was not sure what lines he was supposed to cross.

“Spy, you know the scene,” the director said to the Spy, paying no mind to the Sniper.

“Oui, thank you for your trust in me,” the Spy had this gracious look about him.

Bored, Zachary turned his attention back to his surroundings. The splendor of the room’s décor did not satisfy his interests for long. His eyes were not hungry for satin and passionate reds and violets. On the contrary, he realized that his skin wanted to be wrapped in it. He had not been on a bed so soft-looking in forever, and he wanted to bury himself in that mess of beautiful blankets. He wanted to turn them into a hideous mass that would make any aesthetic they were going for disappear.

His eyes meandered past the ring to the crew outside. These were the people on break or working on things behind the scenes besides cameras, lights and sound. Aside from the crew was the Heavy Weapons Guy. He sat leaned over his knees, with his hands folded and drooping between his legs. He did not seem focused on anything in particular, and did not actually seem like he was keen on watching. Rather he almost seemed like he was waiting, as if his turn to work came after the scene that would happen with the Spy. Of course, that struck him as odd, but what could he do? There were not many questions he could ask that would not be rude.

“Alrighty then! Places!” the director barked loudly.

More lights turned on and small adjustments were made, as if an inch to the left would change how the scene looks. The heat of it almost instantly affected Zachary, leaving him feeling a film of sweat and an increased sense of anxiety. He was not sure what place to take. He was not sure where he was supposed to be. He had never worked with this particular director, who seemed to not understand that it was his job, or perhaps a lackey’s job, to make sure that the actors knew where they were supposed to stand and what they were supposed to do.

There had been times when he was even given lines to say. Sometimes there would be full scripts, where he had a few lines in between the other actors. He was left feeling rather lost, caught under the hot blanket of lights that threatened to turn him into a dripping mess.

“Monsieur Sniper,” the Spy stepped towards him, hands held out with palms up, “What is all of this?”

He was not sure what to say. What was there to say? He did not even know what all of this was anyways. How could he come up with some line to say? It would be the wrong line anyways. The director would not like whatever came out of his mouth. The crew would cover their mouths and gossip about it later for a laugh.

“Cut!” the Sniper called out.

“Sniper,” the Spy frowned.

Zachary felt a huge droplet form in his hairline and drip so fast down his face that it had no time to cool him down. Just as soon as it and its cold line formed on his face, it was gone under the heat of the lights. The film of sweat filling his pores was just reminding him that he felt like he was in over his head.

“I was not given a line or…direction,” he looked to the director.

The man sighed, “Look, just make something up. It’s not too important what you say.”

“I can’t make up something. What am I supposed to say?” he retorted defensively.

“Just say something like…I don’t know…Marco!” the director turned to somebody else.

The man named Marco was writing something down on a paper on a clipboard. He approached the Sniper without paying attention to his feet. He tripped for a moment, the toe of his sneakers catching and snagging on a rug covering the auction ring floor.

“Careful Marco!” the director barked, “If you ruin the set, you gotta fix it yourself!”

Marco finally looked up from the clipboard but paid no mind to the director. He looked over the Sniper’s face, as if contemplating the shape of it. Marco struck him as that calculative type, not the kind of man who would normally get caught up in porn. He had the look of an Engineer in his eye, a man who could size you up for what you were in a second. That in and of itself was terrifying.

“For this scene, Spy enters asking what this is. You gesture to the bed and say ‘a date.’ Spy will back off, act reserved and unwanting,” Marco explained.

He paused to glance around the ring. He seemed to be calculating just how the scene would go. He then turned to the director.

“Maybe we should put another cover on the rest of the ring’s walls?” Marco pointed to the open space that the _audience_ could see into.

“What? That’s extra props!” the director exclaimed.

“That’s extra angles for which you didn’t account for,” Marco explained, “More angles from which to capture the action. You’ve become too lenient on those rooms.”

Zachary was not really following what was going on. For the moment he was rehearsing what he was supposed to do. He had to gesture to the bed and call it a date. Spy would act like he did not want this date. This seemed like a bad way to start a porn, as this seemed like the kind of scene that would end any sexual situation.

“Can we get another prop up over there?” the director pointed.

Some of the crew started running. They did not even have to look long and were quick about covering the rest of the ring. It was all blocked off, giving the sense of a room with no true ceiling. It was the feel of a space that was smaller to work in, but also more private.

“Alright!” the director called out as the crew vacated the ring, “Action!”

Zachary flinched at that, feeling unprepared. He was not ready, despite the mental rehearsal for several minutes. This was going to drive him up the wall. He was honestly starting to miss the ones where he was just expected to kneel and do the deeds demanded of the other actors. No words had to be spoken in those, no social interaction needed to be played out in those films.

“Sniper,” the Spy took a moment to exaggerate his gesturing to the figment of a room around them, “What is all of this?”

He raised a hand, reminding himself mentally to gesture to the bed. He praised himself mentally, feeling a small smile form on his mouth. If he could follow the motions, maybe he would not do too poorly.

“It’s a date,” he barely managed to say. His throat suddenly felt so dry, like it needed water. The heat was not helping with it either.

The scene moved onward as the Spy took a half step back. He wrapped his arms around himself protectively. He looked from the Sniper to the bed and back. Zachary’s heart started to race as a genuine fear filled the Spy’s eyes. He looked so terrified and taken aback, like this was so unexpected and overwhelming. He related to that feeling, that look in his eyes. He looked like Zachary felt, when he was confronted by awful social situations. He wanted to diffuse the situation immediately, to let Spy know that he was okay and that he would be alright.

“I…this…” the Spy’s expression softened and he looked away, “This is too much. A date?” He looked at the bed again, then back to the Sniper. Those pleading eyes seemed to ask him to let him go, to drop all of this and be a good sport about being turned down.

It took too long for Zachary to even realize that he was supposed to reply. This was a social interaction? He was bad at it. He could not believe he ever managed to _have_ a boyfriend, while being this bad at socializing with other people. How could Francis have ever found him friendly if he was this bad at interacting? No wonder he became bored.

“Sniper!” somebody hissed, causing him to turn his head.

“Cut!” the director called out.

“Merde,” the Spy growled. His whole demeanor changed in an instant. His arms dropped from his chest and he looked mildly irritated with Zachary.

“It seems he doesn’t _act_ as often as the mercenaries we usually work with,” Marco told the director as he walked towards the Sniper again.

“Okay Sniper,” Marco raised his head as he clapped his pen against the clipboard, “You are playing the aggressive part. You don’t have to talk as much as you need to express that you’re not taking no for an answer?”

“No?” he felt conflicted by this. He was not sure he could even try to act aggressively towards the Spy, who did nothing to harm him anyways. It was not that he would try to comfort him, but giving him space and quiet seemed like a better thing to do than to not take no for an answer.

“You have to. It’s in your contract,” Marco said sternly, misunderstanding the context of the word, “So, when Spy begins refusing, move closer to him. When he steps away, you step closer. Got it?”

“Step closer,” he mumbled and nodded.

“Say something like, ‘I prepared all of this for you’ and then grab his arm,” Marco then turned to the Spy, “Maybe add another protest. Something like ‘no, please no’ when he does this.”

“Question,” Zachary interrupted.

“What’s your question, Sniper?” Marco turned back to him.

“What is my motive? Why am I doing this? Why is the scene with Spy not wanting it? It doesn’t make sense,” he explained.

The Spy looked frustrated with him. He was genuinely confused and concerned about it. It did not seem like a real scene for porn. It seemed like a conflict that adults should talk over. If this were him and Francis, no matter which position they would be in, he was sure they would talk it out like adults. Too bad he missed his chance to even talk about it with him.

“The scene is fine!” the Spy barked at him.

“Just go along with the scene,” Marco patted Zachary’s shoulder, “You’re going to pull him to the bed.” He turned and pointed to the Spy. “You’re going to struggle. Don’t struggle too hard.”

“It’ll be fine,” the Spy assured Marco, softening his expression again, “These close are easy to remove. They’re the tear off ones.”

“Perfect,” Marco nodded.

“Tear off ones?” Zachary whispered to himself. He did not even know clothes could be made to tear off. Why would somebody even make clothes that could be torn off?

“Alright sir, we’re ready,” Marco said as he exited the stage area.

“Lights ready?” the director asked.

“Set!” somebody in the crew gave the director a thumbs up.

“Cameras?” the director called out.

“Ready,” a cameraman replied.

“I’m not ready,” Zachary felt a sense of panic growing in the air around him.

“Action!” the director declared.


	25. How it Feels

The Spy walked into the scene again, “Sniper? What is this?” The tone and inflection had changed, but his arms were outstretched again as he gestured to the makeshift room.

“It’s a…” his heart dropped as he lost the word. There was a word he used before. He nailed this before, but he could not remember how it went.

“Cut,” an exasperated sigh came from the director and was echoed by the Spy.

“You can’t even remember the simplest line?!” the Spy snarled angrily.

“It’s a _date_ , Sniper!” the director spat.

“Right. Sorry,” he fumbled, barely staying calm.

“Get it right this time! Spy,” the director gestured to the Spy, who was already backing away. He nodded, glancing at other crew members. “Action!” he called out again.

Spy stepped out a little fast this time, “Sniper! What is all of this?” his words sounded hastened, like he was trying to get through it.

“It’s a date,” he barely remembered to gesture to the bed.

The Spy hugged himself as he looked at the bed. He looked to the Sniper and to the bed again. He looked away, as if in shame.

“Spy?” the word escaped his lips in a plea for the man to press onwards. He was just about to forget whatever it was he was supposed to do.

“I…don’t think…I can do this,” Spy looked up at him through his lashes. Those eyes looked so hesitant and scared, like a child who knew the pain that they wanted to go away.

Zachary took a step forward as the Spy stepped forward. He wished this had been rehearsed a bit. Maybe he could have something more to remember this from. Spy seemed to know just what he was doing though. He was so comfortable with his place as an actor that he was undaunted by this fete. Improvisation just seemed to come naturally to him.

Zachary was not sure what he was supposed to do next. He was supposed to be the commanding one in this scene though. He tried to ignore the Spy’s look. He was acting. It was all an act. He could not say it enough to make it true in his mind.

“I can’t do this,” Spy took a half step back.

Zachary took a big step closer and he was upon the Spy. A small jolt came from the Spy, perhaps out of surprise that he could cover the distance in one long legged step. He hesitated as he looked up at the Sniper, who was hesitant to take Spy’s arm.

“I-” he tried to remember everything that Marco told him. It took him a few moments to conjure up words for what Marco told him to do. “I…I put this on,” he gestured to the bed with his free hand.

“I…I see that,” the Spy looked with fright at the bed.

“I put this on,” he repeated, this time gesturing to his own clothes.

“I…see that too,” the Spy gave a little hesitant nod.

“I did all of this for you,” the Sniper tried to sound like he should. He was not really sure what he _should_ sound like though.

“I’m…I can’t right now,” Spy tried to turn away from him, but stopped when it seemed like the Sniper should be pulling on his arm.

Zachary was prompted by the stopping and began to pull the Spy towards the bed. The Spy gave in, while moving like he was fighting back. It was a farce and the Spy was good at building it. He kept up the thrashing and protesting, while not actually putting up a fight against the Sniper’s hand. He just went along with it physically.

“I did this for us,” Zachary went on, searching for more words.

He did not have to worry about coming up with more to say. The air became filled with the Spy protesting. He could not even follow it all, trying to keep his hands on the Spy, while the Spy made a show of struggling to get away from his hands. It felt strange and out of place.

“Please stop,” the Spy pretended to try and tug away as the Sniper pulled him down to sit on the bed.

He was not sure what to say. How to keep moving. He wanted to stop. He wanted to obey the ever-loving authentic-sounding pleas.

“N-no,” he felt so unsure about that word.

“Please,” Spy feigned pulling away.

He tried to think of how this was meant to look. Grabbing the Spy and making him do this did not _look good_. But, it was what they wanted to see. It was what they wanted to depict in this pornography. It was not like he knew anything about porn or what most other men wanted. He failed even the basic ability of finding out and satisfying the wants and needs of the man he loved so dearly for so long.

He needed to succeed at this job. If not for the money, then for himself. He could do something. Sure this was not sniping, but he was not just good at one thing. He could be good at other things, like depicting this side of a weird situation in a pornography.

All he had to do was make it look that certain way. All he had to do was act in a way that helped Spy sell this act he was giving. He was making a big show of not wanting this scene so badly. But every time Sniper messed up Spy grew angrier, like he really wanted to get to the sex, that important part of the whole thing.

Sniper did not want to force this situation, but he had to pretend that he did. It felt weird to be on this end of things. It felt weird that this was not what it was supposed to look like it was. Especially with how genuine Spy seemed when he pleaded to be let go.

On the other side of things, if the Sniper had been recruited for the part that the Spy was playing, he knew that he could not do it. Keeping his cool. Wanting what was coming, while covering it all up with the lack of desire. He could not pull that off, not without too many memories flooding his mind.

He managed to pin Spy down, pushing him onto the bed. Spy began to kick and writhe so he placed his knee over the man’s waist. When the man looked up at him in shock, surprised at the Sniper’s capacity, a memory did float through his mind. The terror and shock, the pain and restraint that reminded him that it was possible for men to take control of other men beneath them. They did not have to be smaller and weaker than them, they could just convince their prey that they were smaller and thus weaker. Make them feel small and helpless, making them writhe helplessly until they had no more energy to fight.

If it was one such man like that, this might even be easier. Maybe he could be sated in knowing he taught such a man what that was like. Maybe he could teach them the pain and terror that they inflict onto others.

He did not know this Spy very well. He was just an average Spy. They met once about a month before. Now that he thought about it, he remembered how the Spy treated the Scout, a toy just like the others did. He was no better himself, having been a part of it, but he did it with the knowledge that Scout was a willing participant.

He took that image of Spy. He took the way he spoke, and the way he acted about Scout. He thought of that and warped it, imagining how Spy might have actually treated Scout if he had a chance. If the younger mercenary still had energy, he would have fought and writhed. Spy would have pinned him down. He would have enjoyed it too, smiling mirthfully down at the frightened young man.

Spy writhed some more, putting on a bigger show for the camera. It helped that the Sniper already had a better grip on him, pinning him firmly and purposefully to the bed. He was not even sure where the line was drawn between the acting and reality.

Spy would have loved torturing the Scout though. If given the chance to do it by his lonesome, he would have made the Scout think he had a chance to escape, only to take it away. Then he would punish him for thinking he could find solace and safety.

He grabbed the Spy’s pants and wretched them open. Spy put up a significantly lesser fight over this. Perhaps he did not think the camera needed to see him fight over this. Or perhaps he was getting too tired to fight.

Either way, he could imagine the Spy jeering. He could have been dark and creepy. A few decrepit words of French would pass his teeth, and then the lecherous man would have removed the boy’s innocence, keeping him down and stripping him of his dignity without much effort.

He found that it was very easy to remove the Spy’s clothes. As previously promised, they easily tore away. What he mistook for cloth ripping turned out to be velcro. He tossed what he managed to tear away aside so that he could focus on pinning the Spy.

Spy would not have had velcro clothing to work with. Instead, he would have pulled out a knife and threatened the poor Scout. By that point, who knows if the younger mercenary would have been in tears. He would have been scared for his life though. He would have been fighting back every instinct to get away in order to fight for his life in this moment.

He did not have a knife on him with which to threaten Spy. All he had were his bare hands. These hands, as he remembered them, _could_ kill a man on their own with the right knowledge. It was just a matter of using them correctly. And with that in mind he pressed down on the Spy’s trachea.

Panic widened the Spy’s eyes as he began to struggle. He began to claw at the arm holding his throat closed. He put up an actual effort to try and free himself from the choking. There was no getting free when the Sniper held all of the support of gravity and leverage on his side.

“Stop fighting!” he growled at him.

The Spy responded by calming down. His hands lowered from the Sniper’s wrists. The moment his hands left the man’s neck, he gasped for air and grabbed for his neck in desperation. The distraction gave him time to work off his own pants.

Spy would have done something like this. Maybe stabbed Scout or put a knife to his throat. Scout would have been distracted and forced to be still long enough for the Spy to get his pants off. That would have been his moment of triumph, his victory over the younger man, as he exposed himself to him and penetrated him.

He grabbed Spy’s wrists and grouped them into one hand. He pinned them down behind his head. Taking no wrists he put some weight on that hand to keep them there. His free hand brought their skin together, shifting the Spy’s hips and directing his cock to the man’s ass.

Spy would have been relentless, watching Scout cry or struggle with himself. He would have relished in the victory, in the fact that this was not wanted. He might have even laughed as he thrusted hard.

Sniper gave no hesitation. He stared into the Spy’s face as he thrusted into him. His hips gave relentless bucks as he glared at the face, which turned away from him. No doubt Scout would have done the same. Not wanting to look at his attacker. He wanted Spy to look at him though. He wanted him to look up at the man taking from him, to remember what it was like, and to understand what it felt like to be this small.

He grabbed Spy’s jaw and forced him to look up at him. Ecstasy covered the Spy’s face. His mouth hung slightly open with a look lie he was relishing the sensations he was feeling. He even had the audacity to shiver in what could only be described as delight.

He wasn’t _supposed_ to be enjoying this! He was supposed to feel humiliated. He was supposed to feel pain. He was supposed to feel small and helpless. He was supposed to feel weak and pathetic. He was supposed to feel how Scout felt!

He caught himself up in a spiraling blaze of thoughts. A sweaty hand gripped the Spy’s wrists, and his other hand barely held himself up as he rammed into the man. Everything felt red, as if it was on fire. He could not pay attention to anything outside of the peripheral of red. Satin sheets ablaze under light were like flames that licked closer and closer. It claimed Spy’s body already, as it fell at his back, licking up at the Sniper’s eyes.

He could not catch his breath. The fiery world around him was suffocating and he was close to keeling over. He did not stop though. He would not be finished off by this inferno. It would have to take him in death, because he was not finished.

The Spy had the audacity to like this. He did not feel any of the pain or emotional suffering. He _enjoyed_ this!

The more he thought about it, the rougher he tried to be. If only just to push him towards hating this. He wanted to take the joy out of it. He wanted to remove any of the lust and pleasure. He wanted Spy to feel the burning flames on his skin and remember how it is to be small and helpless.

He wanted it for Scout. This was vengeance for Scout’s sake. It was because of what he did to the Scout…

His mind was reeling as reality set in on him. He had lost himself in the figment that he had somehow witnessed the Spy assaulting the Scout. It had all been fragments of thoughts thrown together to make himself feel that feeling that would make him more aggressive. That feeling like this was something worth doing. It was not just worth doing though, it was payback in the highest degree.

There was nothing to pay back though. There was no reason to do this to the Spy. He had done nothing wrong. Sniper wanted him to feel a pain Spy had never inflicted on anybody before, to the best of the Sniper’s knowledge. This was all because he got carried away with that idea and just let it become reality in his mind.

As he looked down at Spy, the rosiness of the satin sheets faded into an aura of crimson deep violet. It merely framed the aroused figure of the man beneath him. Now he writhed not to escape, but in pleasure. Even his cock throbbed with a measure of pleasure that the Sniper could not take from him. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make Spy actually be a perpetrator of what they were displaying for sexual entertainment. He also could not make the Spy stop enjoying this moment of violence and malcontent. He could not make his skin stop flushing with red that told of how warm he was nor make his eyes stop rolling in ecstasy.

He was flushed himself, caught between the humiliation of catching himself in a lie to himself and the building warmth in his belly. Knowing the cameras were on him did not make this any better. With others there watching, and remembering that they were witness, he became more and more aware of just how bizarre his thoughts had been. His only reprieve was that those had been private thoughts trapped inside of his head.

His attention became drawn immediately to the Spy. He had gone from a passive partner to a writhing actor again. He was moaning, wrapping his legs around him, and making a scene out of enjoying this.

“Ohh… Sniper! Please…more! Give me more!” Spy pleaded.

The Sniper opened his mouth, but he was not sure what to say. They were on camera after all. All of this was supposed to be for the scene. He dared not even look at the camera’s lens. Even glancing at a crew member could be noticed by the director and fault the entire scene. He did not want to have to do it all over again.

He did not want to have to remember the lines. He did not want the Spy to be angry with him all over again. He did not want to go through double guessing himself again. He did not want to even be touching the Spy right now.

He wanted something to hurt, something to physically abuse. He wanted a _somebody_ that could feel the pain he had been trying to inflict on the Spy. He wanted somebody, anybody else in the world, to feel how he felt.

When he finished, he just felt empty. The high left him in a calm hum of sanctuary. It was a piece of quiet in his mind that refused to acknowledge what he had been thinking about before. It resided in the park of relaxation and no longer giving a shit. Everything swept under the rug for the moment, he found himself watching the Spy writhing beneath him as he came to what looked like a very delightful climax.

He watched and waited. He barely heard the call for the cameras to stop rolling. The scene was over. It was finally done. He felt so relieved, yet as the high started to fade he felt so disgusting. He wanted to curl himself up in a corner and hide his desire to cry.

It was simply not fair. Watching the Spy act so happily about this whole affair was painful. Knowing just how alone he really was in this made him feel the wretched shamefulness he did before he went to assassinations. It was a small and helpless feeling, with the world taken from him, with nobody to care about that very fact. The awful reality was that he was alone, in spirit, in concept and in relationship.

He nearly lumbered out of the set without pants. Somebody managed to bring him his own clothes. He gladly took off the borrowed costume. He did not care how clean and soft they were, he needed the disgusting familiarity of his own life. He needed to be returned to himself, and the person that he was. No matter how shameful and disgusting he felt, he was still himself and that was just what he needed. He needed that sense of himself, no matter how awful it was.

When he did come out of the auction ring, he was surprised at being reminded of the Heavy. He was sitting right there on a bench. He was hunched over, hands folded and staring down at nothing. He looked contemplative though, like he was thinking very hard about something.

He turned away from the Heavy. He tried to turn his mind off. He had been thinking too hard for too long. This was just too damn much.

“Sniper,” Marco approached him, taking him by surprise.

“Hmm?” was all he managed to respond with.

“Half your pay,” the man put a brown envelope in his hands.

“Half?” Sniper inquired.

“We will send you the other half within two to three business days,” Marco explained, “You did not exactly give us much chance with that doubling of the pay. We need time to process the payment and get the money to you.”

“Right,” Sniper mumbled.

“You’ll be in the same area, correct?” Marco inquired.

“Yea,” Sniper nodded slowly.

“Good, I have your license plate number already,” Marco checked his clipboard, “I’ll have it sent directly to you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, before he left the auction house.

He felt tired and like everything in his body wanted to collapse. He became overwhelmed with a yawn. Unable to overcome the sensation, he stretched his arms. Before he knew it, he was passing through a hallway where an old snack shack had been opened up and turned back into something of its former self.

He paused to look out of curiosity. It was somewhat new, but it seemed that some other mercenaries had taken it upon themselves to start an entrepreneurship. A few customers sat at the worn down old stools and tables eating the goods that were sold there. Not that they looked very good. Still, a bite to eat was a bite to eat. Zachary had not had anything to eat all day, which made his stomach growl.

He approached the counter opposite the tables, digging a finger in the envelope to fish out a bill. He desperately tried to separate the crisp bills from each other. Damn American green tried to stick together like it held adhesive or something.

“What’ll it be?” a Southern American man put his forearm down on the counter and let a small grin cross his face.

“Uh…” Zachary looked around to see what the shack actually had.

It was mostly snack items, bought at a store to be sold here where it was more easily accessible. There was a lot of candy items, more bagged chip items than he knew existed, selections of packaged meals for reheating, hotdogs and hamburgers. His stomach growled again, as if begging him to hurry and choose an option.

“Hotdog,” he answered with a nod.

“Hotdog coming up,” the man turned to the lanky young man behind him at a grill.

“Got it!” the younger man put some meat on the grill without question.

The Southern man turned back to him, “That’ll be two ninety nine.”

Zachary finally managed to fish out a bill. It was a hundred. The man before him frowned at that and began digging for change for a whole hundred dollar bill. Still, he managed to get the change for it.

Zachary sighed and relaxed against the counter. Nobody else was coming, so he was not really in the way or anything. He just wanted to take a moment to relax as his mind came back into a peaceful way of working. It felt like he just woke up from a slumber, but he was still exhausted.

As far as work went, he really just wanted to leave. He could just leave with half the pay, but that would be stupid. He was owed the other half and needed it to get through the month. Maybe with that pay, he could move on and do something else. He did not want to keep making this kind of cinematography, with his pants off and men he did not know hunched over him.

He shuddered, feeling the eerie sensation that he was being watched. He looked around, but it seemed like there was nobody there. He was just imagining it. None of the men at the tables were looking at him. They were all involved in their own conversations, each of them in some friendship or other.

“Well now,” he flinched when he heard the Spy so close to him. He turned to find that he had appeared right beside him. “I did not expect you like this…cuisine,” the Spy said haughtily.

“I’m hungry,” Zachary turned his eyes down and tried to look as relaxed as possible.

“Understandable,” the Spy admitted.

“What you want?” he glanced over his shoulder, craning his neck to try and see the progress of his hotdog. He wanted to grab it and go.

“You left me there,” suddenly the Spy was on him, chest pressed against his and arms trying to snake their way around him.

He flinched and worked his own arms away from the encroaching arms. He did not want to get trapped by an attempt to hug his arms to his side. If nothing else, he would have a free hand to punch a man in the mouth.

He did not manage to get a protest out of his mouth before the Spy’s face was in his face. His skin grew hot and yet the blood felt like it was draining away at the same time. He stared back at the man drawing nearer. Those eyes were sharp and haunting. They captivated and held him like a trap on a rabbit.

“You didn’t even give a chance to…” perhaps the gesture itself was supposed to explain the ending of the sentence. He did not finish it either way, as he pressed his lips to the Sniper’s. Arms snaking around him, he pulled the Sniper close to hold him there, long enough to kiss him.

He raised his hands, putting them on the Spy’s chest or shoulders. He was not entirely sure where he put them, but he pushed. He shoved as hard as he could, breaking contact with the man’s face. He jerked back to finally break free from the man’s embrace.

Thrown off balance, the Spy fell to the ground. Sitting there on the ground, he looked a bit dazed. “What the hell was that?!” the Spy shouted at him angrily.

“Hey!” the man behind the counter barked at him, “No violence in the auction house!”

Zachary immediately tried to explain himself, “I didn’t-”

“You wanna put up your cuffs, take it outside,” the man pointed to the doorway that led out to where the old empty pens were.

The Spy rose to his feet and brushed his clothes off. He was silent, with a tightness to his face that spoke of anger. Zachary stood at a wary distance. He dared not get too close.

“Fine!” the Spy emphasized the word with a loud smack to the dirt on his coattails, “Forget you! You’re the filthiest of bushmen anyways!”

He watched the Spy walk away. Why would he even come for a kiss anyways? They had sex? So what? He wiped his own mouth on his sleeve. He felt grossly violated. To be kissed without permission, without wanting it, felt awful.

He put a hand to his mouth, astonished at himself. He had been so thoughtless before. To think he did not even ask, let alone consider, how Francis felt about being kissed. Yet he did that very thing to him.

“Your order’s ready,” the man behind the counter caught his attention.

“Thanks,” he took the dry hotdog, feeling a little confused as to what to do with it.

“We’ve got some condiments over there,” the man pointed to an outlying counter, “Enjoy.”

Feeling the power of dismissal, he walked over to the condiments. He did not really know what he wanted. He could not even think of eating it right now. He just started covering it in condiments.

“Sniper,” the big Heavy’s voice caused him to flinch. The result was a gob of relish falling onto his hand. “Sniper is okay?” the big man inquired.

“I’m fine, mate,” he replied, a little irritated at the inquiry.

Heavy laid a hand on Sniper’s shoulder. That was what led him to the realization that they were surprisingly at the same height. He was used to being taller than everybody else. He was the tallest Sniper. He was usually the tallest mercenary. Granted, he rarely ever interacted with the Heavy Weapons Guy before.

“Is good,” Heavy patted his shoulder.

“I gotta go,” he turned and hurried from the auction house.

Despite his hurry, he could still hear footsteps behind him. He hastened his step. He hurried to move faster. He hurried to get away from him, to reach his truck. He needed to get to his truck. He just needed to get out of here, and hope to whatever deity existed that he could make things okay again.


	26. Rightful Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooley gets a surprise visit from a stranger. They share a beer.  
> Demoman gets to thinking about the Medic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow...look...this story is back.

The honk of a truck took Dooley off guard. He was focused on the corn bread and beef sandwich he was eating. He almost dropped everything in a mess on the ground. He cursed under his breath and set the plate aside so he could safely assess who was honking and who they were honking for.

A camper truck pulled to a halt and two men climbed out. He recognized Francis’ ex-boyfriend and the Heavy who climbed out of the passenger seat. He was more than willing to talk to the Heavy, but he was not sure he could talk to the Sniper without knocking his nose out of place.

The two came walking over together. Presumably they had a job to do. Granted, Dooley never saw either of them around here for a job. It must have been their first. He would mind his own business by turning away.

Turning away did him no good, as his peripheral vision kept sight of them. They were coming his way and he was starting to feel the hairs on his arms stand up. His hackles were erect as the two men came strolling towards him, looking like they were determined, with a mission in mind.

The Heavy gave the Sniper’s shoulder a pat, “Is good, da?”

The Sniper nodded silently. He seemed like a quiet type. Dooley would imagine him muttering and shuffling his feet about. It almost matched the kind of man that Frank had described him to be. Somehow Dooley had imagined that he would be even more silent, more a stoic type of man.

“Engineer,” the Heavy greeted him with a smile.

Something was hidden behind that smile, but Dooley could not put his finger on what it was. All he could do was smile and wave back. There was nothing witty or fascinating that came to mind for response. He just felt sort of put on the spot, in a position where two other men with two different mindsets but the same love for Frank were looking to him. His heart started to race as he felt the rising terror erupt from his heart, like he may be facing a fight.

“Is Francis around?” Heavy inquired.

He furrowed his brow. He had not actually expected them to ask for Frank. Still, he should not test them too much. He checked his expression, forcing himself to soften it. He could not be the one who was jealous if he was the one who had Frank’s heart.

He shook his head slowly, “He’s working right now. He’ll be gone a few more hours.”

“Oh,” the Sniper’s shoulder’s hunched and all that was left of his square and blocky stature turned into a fluid slump like sludge. He just sort of melted, with a disappointment that struck hard.

“And…what do you boys want with Frank?” he inquired carefully, looking between the Heavy and the Sniper.

“Sniper has something he wants to say,” Heavy patted the Sniper’s back.

The Sniper looked at the Heavy, then down at Dooley. There was hesitation and terror in that man’s face. His eyes were hidden by his aviators, but it was easy to see the nerves.

“I um…” Dooley really wanted to intervene whatever they wanted to say to Frank.

Sure, he could trust Frank. Frank had his loyalty. He knew he could trust Frank’s decisions. The man was not going to turn on him like some moron ruining a good thing. There was just something in him that was so desperate to hang onto this love that he was ready to reach for the toolbox and start a fight over it.

“I’m sorry,” the words fell out of the Sniper’s mouth like they had fallen from his arms without control.

“Um…” Dooley felt stumped about what to do. He was not expecting something like this. He felt like his brain was doing what his machines did when they were being sapped by a Spy.

“Is good,” the Heavy’s voice was soft as he gave the Sniper a little shake.

Sniper nodded, seemingly encouraged by the other man’s words. He did not seem dissuaded this time, finding strength when the Heavy said this to him. He turned back to Dooley and took a breath.

“I’m sorry for what I did…back in the diner,” the Sniper’s words fell like sand out of a bag, and now his hands were shaking.

Dooley felt a little bad because the man sounded genuinely apologetic, but at the same time he sounded so scared. He looked terrified, with the way his hands trembled.

“It’s…alright,” Dooley offered him a smile. He was not sure what more he could do for this situation.

“I was rubbish,” the Sniper added.

“It’s alright,” Dooley hesitated uncertainly.

“What time does Francis come back?” the Heavy inquired.

“Probably around two o’clock for lunch break,” Dooley tried not to meet their eyes. He felt a little guilty for eating an early lunch without Frank, but he was mighty hungry.

“Engineer is busy now?” the Heavy asked.

“Just uh…chewing my food,” Dooley gestured to the plate he set aside.

“We’ll let you do that,” the Sniper stepped away. He was suddenly stopped by the Heavy’s big hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe is odd time but is good time to make friends? Da?” the Heavy pleaded.

Dooley hesitated, surprised by the suggestion. He scratched his head, “Um…sure…I guess. I have some extra beef if you want a sandwich.”

“No thanks,” the Sniper immediately lifted his hands defensively.

“Heavy will be back later,” the big man patted the Sniper’s back, “Sniper will stay here and talk to little Engineer.”

With that, the Heavy turned and left them alone. He walked off down the street, like a man on a mission. The two of them left behind felt pretty awkward about this situation. They had never properly spoken to each other before. Dooley was not even sure where to start.

He decided to think like Frank. What Frank would do in this situation would be to invite the man to join him. Beef turned down or not, there were always way to let people join in. He patted the tailgate spot beside himself.

The Sniper slowly responded, cooperating by taking the seat beside him. Relieved to see that this was going well. He turned and pulled a long neck out of the white cooler. “Have a cold one,” he handed the beer to the Sniper, who gladly accepted. He reached back again to grab his own beer.

They popped off the tops and tipped back their drinks. A good long swig did them both good. The warm tingling down the back of the throat already relaxed Dooley’s mind, helping him to feel a little more at ease. He would be alright, if he just handled this situation with care.

They set down their drinks and fell silent. The company of the man was truly a quiet one. If he could think of something to say at this point, like Frank could, perhaps he would have an easier time of this. He was not Frank though, so they remained in silence together.

 

*********************************************************************

 

The little convenience store was relatively quiet. Relative was a key word, given it always had some odd mysterious song playing. It was a strange place to step into, either colder than the outside or warmer than the outside. It was surreal though, a place that existed beyond this town’s craziness. It seemed like the door between the normal townies, or rather ranchers who lived in the mountains, and the mercenaries who quietly did dirty business.

A tired store clerk stood behind the counter. He was glaring with dark circles around his eyes. He barely registered the Demoman’s entrance into the place.

He passed the counter and most of the aisles to the alcohol section. It was pretty dry nowadays. With a great mix of mercenaries came a decent amount of drinkers. He was surprised that there were not more alcoholics like himself around. Then again, they probably had other matters on their minds.

He pursued the pathetic selection of drinks. It used to be a great place to shop for liquor, especially since the local grocer stopped stocking alcoholic beverages besides cold medicines. Nowadays though it was quite wiped out by men who needed more alcohol to drown out their tears.

If the past ever haunted him the way it haunted others, he was not sure there was enough alcohol in the world to drown him. As it was, he was a casual drunk. The drunk who drank for a living. The drunk whose hand was never without a beer bottle. He was well known by his past team as being the heaviest drinker around.

He picked up two different brands of beer to look at the labels. The content looked good enough. He wondered if it even mattered anymore. He could get both and it would not make a difference anymore. Life was life and that was depressing. This shit nursed the wounds that went uncared for.

“That’s not true,” he mumbled to himself, glaring at the Big Red Brew bottle.

He put the beers back down and turned to look at the candies. The treats and sweets were brightly labeled. With big letters and saturated colors, they all looked appealing to the eye. They were the kinds of labels that directed children to scream and cry for the want of them.

“He’s a bag of M&M’s,” he chuckled to himself, as he picked up a small yellow bag of chocolate coated peanuts.

He licked his lips as he let himself think more proactively about Maxwell. A thick man with chiseled curves on his body was more appealing to Finch’s tastes than he would ever dare to admit aloud. He was a good-looking man who kept himself looking like something every man should want. Finch theorized the man enjoyed the fact that weak men grew hard at the sight of him.

He was certainly more than that though. He was more than his figure, the way he walked or the way he talked. He certainly had all of the factors to appeal to any man’s sensibilities. At least, he could appeal to any man with an interest in his pretty pink cock and his tight ass.

He had a lot to offer. He had that amazing smile, but behind it was a witty man with a grand sense of humor. He had a quick tongue too, as sharp with rage as it was witty. his eyes always sparkled, like he was having a grand old time. Or perhaps he was just finding the way he was going to take control of the situation.

Max’s hands were about the same size as his own. They were big hands but softened by work in gloves and years of using lotion. It was because of those soft hands that Finch had taken up using lotions. He borrowed the lotions and hoped they made his hands softer and kinder to touch.

Those hands were amazingly clever and protective. Just as soon as he would pick up a weapon to fight, he would make quick work of an injury. He was as dedicated to the care of patients as he was to destroying his enemies. Not that Finch got to see that often. He regretted not getting to see him in the mercenary element. Although, he was not sure he could live with himself if he ever forgot the pornographic element of it.

The man was naturally in his element when he put on leather straps. He liked strutting around in nothing but a thong. He enjoyed when men looked at him, gawking and drooling over his delicious figure. For a man of his age, he was gorgeous, and every man who had a chance in a scene with him knew it was a privilege.

How he managed his life as a mercenary was beyond Finch. He was a sexual man who existed within his element. It was as if the pornographic scene was his to own his whole life. But there could not possibly be a safe space for him among other mercenaries to do the things he wanted to. Not with as many men as he did now.

He turned around to the alcohol again. He paused to pick up a bottle of cheap red wine. He was staring at the label, but he was not reading it. His mind was caught up on Maxwell and what he was about. He was sweet like red wine, aged as sweetly too. Yet he was the red wine that Finch was privileged to have while the man was off the clock.

He flinched, lowering the bottle. He realized that all it would take was a little mixing to make the best drinks. Of course, the best sex would take a bit of mixing. The best time to be had would be mixing both of their favorite things.

It was not like he could woo the Medic either. The man was adamant that romance and flirting outside of lust was not welcome. Even just inviting him out for coffee was apparently too much to ask.

Just a little more attention was all Finch needed. Not the kind of attention that the Medic gave though. He was perfectly attentive, especially in helping Finch feel healed in his head and heart. Yet, at the end of the day when he had emptied his load on Max’s sheets, he felt a need to get to know more about him.

He would not get that chance in most circumstances. Perhaps he could not invite him out for any kind of drinks. But as he looked at the bottle in his hand, he realized that there was a chance he could bring the drinks, and consequently some romance, to Maxwell.

A smile crept across his face as the idea formulated in his mind. It should have occurred to him before, but it seemed so obvious now. A drunk man was not the kind of man who had a firm hold on his aspirations or his tongue.


	27. A Surprise Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell gets a visit from a special Demoman. Demoman has a proposition he doesn't want to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look...another chapter on the same day :3

Max was not expecting any company when he heard the door open. He assumed it was Dooley, since the room was his as well. He shut off the faucet as he turned back to shaving his jaw. He carefully removed the stubble, working up to trim back his sideburns.

“I’m having a shave, Dooley,” he called to the newcomer.

“Aye?” the voice was not Dooley’s. He heard boots walking to the bathroom door. The door creaked open,”But I like when you’re a little scruffy.”

“Oh, what are you doing here?” he was surprised by this visit.

“Did you not want me here?” the Demoman asked, shying away from the door.

“I’m just surprised,” he lowered his razor, “I wasn’t expecting visitors. You usually knock.”

“I figured we were on such good terms…” the Demoman scratched the back of his neck and stepped out the bathroom, “I’ll just…go put my foot in my mouth.”

“Don’t go,” Maxwell gestured with his razor,”Stay. I don’t mind. What’s on your thoughts?”

“Just came in wondering…if you were busy today,” Demoman inquired.

“I don’t have work today,” Maxwell answered, “I was just…going to…”

He hesitated in the middle of his words. He was hesitant to answer honestly about what his plans for the day were. Laying around and moping in his bed was certainly not a glamorous day plan. He had no friends who took him to the diner to chat and eat like Dooley did. He did not have any reason to even leave his room aside from work and sometimes Dooley. The biggest thing he was going to do for the day was to shave his face, so he would at least feel like he accomplished something.

“Well I…to be honest…” the Demoman hesitated again,”I was hoping to get a better…I mean longer…I mean…” He let out a sigh that seemed like defeat.

“What are you trying to say, Finch?” Max pressed.

“I’m just realizing how stupid this idea is,” Finch smiled shyly and gave a little chuckle.

“Well, what’ the idea?” Maxwell asked, turning back to the mirror.

“It’s a dumb idea,” Finch waved his hands defensively,”I won’t bother you with it. I’ll just leave you to shave.”

“No no,” Max insisted,”Tell me. What did you have in mind?”

He could see Finch in the mirror biting his lip,”I was thinking…you know…you…and me? I wanted to…have a little time together. I know you don’t like that romance stuff. You tell me that all the time. So, I thought I’d…bring just a little of that to the bedroom…aye? I brought some beers and a wine bottle. A bit of the stuff I like…and a bit of the stuff you like…you know?”

“Oh? What I like?” Max teased.

“Well I…know you like doing crazy things…and it sounds kind of stupid. You do all of that at work already. You wouldn’t want me coming in here and asking for that on your off day,” Finch’s face was quite warm with red.

“Actually,” Maxwell paused to put the razor down. He was far from finished shaving the cream and stubble from his face, but he wanted to turn around and face the other man.”That sounds like a perfect way to spend my day,” he finished with a smile.

“Really?” the glimmer in the Demoman’s eyes must have been hope.

Maxwell nodded in agreement. This felt like just what he needed right now. His low and boring day could be full of activity and doing something that felt good, rather than quiet moping. He did not want to think about all of those things that would waft through his head in the quiet.

What Finch was proposing offered him another level of benefit. He enjoyed his sexual friend, and while a quiet struggle existed to define that relationship, he was comfortable with it. The comfort and familiarity offered him something warm and loving to think about.

Finch flashed him those pearly whites as he beamed,”I’ll leave you to shave? I can-”

“Go fetch my lube for me?” he requested.

Finch was taken aback by the cut off. He took it into stride thereafter, as he left the bathroom to fetch the lube he was asked for. Maxwell turned back to the mirror, scraping at his upper lip.

When the Demoman returned, he was waving the lube in the air. “Here you are,” he offered it to him, “I’ll go pour something to drink, while you finish getting ready.”

“No, put some on,” Max insisted.

“Oh…okay,” Finch hesitated, twisting off the cap of the lube.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Max said dismissively, “I wanted to watch you slather your manhood.”

“I get it,” Finch quickly switched to opening his pants and pulling out his dick. he squeezed a fair amount of lube into his hand, before he began slathering it along the flaccid member.

Max resumed shaving, but he kept an eye on Finch’s progress. His heart began to race with excitement as Finch grew harder. The rise to attention raised his own excitement with the growing anticipation.

He flinched with a hiss as he nicked his cheek, “Ouch!”

“You should be paying more attention to shaving, lad,” Finch scorned him, “I was going to wait and pour us drinks while you get ready.”

Maxwell looked directly at Finch’s member, “You look ready.”

“I am,” Finch blushed, “But I can wait.”

“I can’t,” he tossed the razor aside and unbuttoned his pants. Sliding them down with his underwear, he bent to leave his posterior vulnerable.

“I see,” Finch stepped forward and took him by the waist.

After a few moments of coordinating, a great throbbing cock filled his ass. Max took a deep breath and let it out with relief. He closed his eyes and braced against the sink. Taking up his job in this situation, Finch began thrusting into him.

He let out low groans as the sensation went from painful to pleasurable. He began rocking his hips to the rhythm, pushing back with every thrust. He imagined this part could have been good with just anybody on top of him. Still, he was glad that it was Finch, due to their established relations. This would stay quiet and between the two of them, all the way down to how eager Max was to have some sex.

This lasted for several minutes before the Demoman came. He took a breath, shuddering as he pulled out. He leaned against his palms on the sink. He breathed heavily for a minute, slowly gathering a steady pace.

“If you need anything, I’ll be out there,” Finch told him, “I’ll pour us some drinks. Yea?”

“Yea,” Maxwell breathed,”That sounds nice. I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Right,” Finch excused himself to the next room.

Maxwell remained behind to finish his shave. He spent less time focusing on trimming his sideburns. They could get some work later. He rinsed away the last of the shaving cream, grabbed a towel and headed out of the bathroom.

He smiled at the sight of the Demoman stretched out on his bed. All he had on were his boxers, with his penis trying to poke out. He was propping himself up on an elbow as he tried to look suave. To add to the image, he picked up a wine glass to drink some red liquid.

He could ignore the romantic imagery as he looked to the man’s growing erection. He was already recovered and rearing for another go. With the day free and the Demoman’s full attention, he was willing to bet he could put the man in a lot of fun positions too. This would be his opportunity to poke and prod at his boundaries to find just how far he could go with this man.

While he was admiring Finch’s figure, the man started waving a hand to get his attention, “You’re staring an awful long while.”

“Am I?” Max put on the cooing soft seductive voice that seemed to please the men he bedded, “I’m simply enjoying the view. I like what I see…a lot.”

“You see it often enough, don’t you?” Finch argued.

“Not enough,” Max reached out to touch Finch’s calves. He ran his fingertips up his leg, moving inward along his thigh. His fingers barely brushed against the hardening flesh under his boxers, before they followed the trail of hair to his belly button. “I certainly haven’t seen you looking like this.”

“You like it?” Finch grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“I wish I had a camera,” Max licked his lip briefly.

“I’m not making pornos, love,” Finch argued defensively.

“Just one snapshot,” Maxwell insisted, “One little keepsake of this moment.”

“Maybe instead of wishing for a keepsake of this moment,” Finch held out a free hand, beckoning for Max’s presence to come closer,”Let’s make it a special memory you can’t ever forget.”

Maxwell chuckled as he climbed over the bed towards the other man. Finch turned, opening his arms to accept Maxwell into them. He had a delighted little smile on his lips, before he pressed them against Max’s neck.

Max hummed as the kisses traveled along his neck to his shoulder. He ran one hand up to tangle his fingers into the man’s black hair. It had grown quite long, with curls clinging to his fingers.

“So, what are we doing next? Hmm?” Maxwell inquired.

The Demoman hummed in response. His kisses started moving back up to his neck, “How…about…you tell me where you keep your toys? I know you have some.”

Max chuckled at that, “They’re tucked in the nightstand.”

“Really?” Finch raised his head to look at his face with widened eyes, “Right there? Where your roommate could find them?”

Max laughed, “The man isn’t nosey. I already told him to keep out of the nightstand.”

“Well that’s a surprise,” the Demoman giggled. He climbed over Max to the side of the bed where the nightstand was.

“What are you going to do then?” Max asked.

“I’m going to wing it,” he climbed off the bed to open the nightstand. He began pulling out toys willy nilly, carelessly dropping them on the floor.

“Hey!” Max protested,”Some of those need to stay sanitary!”

“What I want doesn’t need sanitary,” he grabbed some leather straps. He did not seem to realize that he had grabbed something that was supposed to be worn.

“That’s not a-” Max started but was cut off as Finch grabbed the hem of his shirt. He pulled it up and over his head, stopping with the shirt over Max’s head, his arms forced upwards. The leather straps wrapped around his wrists and lashing them to the headboard. Unable to see, he was left clueless about what the Demoman was doing.

The man’s warm hands ran down his bare chest. He took a deep breath, pressing against his hands as much as he could. The other man sat on his hips and began grinding against him. He grunted and wriggled, trying to get better friction. Trapped in his pants, he could not get a good feel around his own cock. The Demoman shifted, apparently taking off his boxers, letting himself out to bounce out against Max’s belly. He shifted back to grind against his groin again.

Max groaned, partly from enjoyment and partly from distress of not finding quite enough friction. “My pants, bitte,” he spoke up.

“Nah,” the Demoman let out a mischievous giggle.

“I can’t do this in these trousers,” Max pleaded.

“A little torture won’t hurt,” Finch continued giggling, rubbing harder against his dick. He was getting harder, and it was becoming more apparent just how restricted he was. “Besides, what are you going to do?” he teased.

Max let out a moan. He could not resist the man who was freely taking part in his own fantasies. Not only was he indulging him, but he was also getting creative about it. His heart was pounding hard, racing with excitement and delight.

“Ooh you’re getting big,” Finch’s hand rubbed his groin in place of his buttocks, “You’re getting real riled up, aren’t you?”

“Ja,” Max breathed, “I need some touch, bitte.”

“No,” Finch refused. He removed his hand and returned to rubbing against his groin with his butt.

“Fine,” Max took control of the situation, digging his feet into the bed. With the gained leverage, he thrusted his hips upward, trying to rub harder against Finch and force him to bounce.

“Oh! You’re a feisty one, ain’t ya?” Finch laughed, bouncing right off of Max’s lap.

Max was panting,”Bitte.”

He heard rustling for a moment, before a sudden snap sent a burn across his chest. He flinched with a surprised gasp. The leather snapped across his chest and belly several times, giving him that sharp burning sensation.

“How does that do for you?” Finch teased.

“Ohh Gott!” Max breathed.

“How are you feeling love?” Finch inquired.

“Very hot,” he felt like there was a fire burning inside of him. It gave further rise to his manhood, though it was trapped in his britches. He licked his lips to wet them, “I need…I need a fuck.”

“I have none to give!” Finch roared with outright laughter.

Max closed his eyes and shook his head. His entire being cringed at the very essence of the man’s joke. He took a deep breath, ready to bear with the jesting in order to get to the part where Finch freed him from his confines.

“Maybe you’re not up to the task? Is that it?” Maxwell inquired,”Still down and unable to give it to me?”

“That’s not it at all,” Finch moved closer, laying his cock on Max’s belly. He could feel it twitch against himself, wanting for something warm and wet.

He bit his lower lip tentatively,”You’re at your hardest, aren’t you? You want to put that somewhere?” He lowered his voice to a growl to try and seduce him.

“You’d like this in you, wouldn’t you? Yea,” Finch chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest, “You’d like to feel this going deep. It’s got just the right size too. Real big, but not too big to take you out of your fun. And excellent for pressing your button. To be honest, I think if I even put in the tip, you would ejaculate in an instant.”

“Are you trying to keep me from cumming? Is that why you’re keeping the pants on?” Max chuckled in amusement. It was a strange idea, but it seemed like the kind of thing that Finch might think up.

“Not at all! On the contrary,” Finch grabbed his groin, this time taking him with a very firm grip. A whimper escaped Max’s throat as the strong hand squeezed harder than it needed.

Masochism was a beautiful thing. He often got to dish out his sadistic wants onto others in many situations. This would be the first time he had somebody take an actively sadistic role in their personal play time. He did not usually go for the genitals, as that was a low blow and could easily ruin the mood, however this was feeling really good. Something about what Finch did was just perfect.

Max bit hard on his lip as the grip held fast. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that forced their way through. His legs began to tremble and his whole being began to shiver. His breaths were shaky and grew deeper as he grew desperate for air. A trickle of sweat ran from his sideburn down his cheek.

Suddenly, the hand released his tender flesh. The release of that pain was like a form of ecstasy. Everything in his body did not feel relieved, it felt euphoric. He did not even realize what was happening before his pants became wet.

A small giggle came from Finch, “Alright, now I’m ready to take your pants off.”

Max let out a sigh, relaxing back against the pillow. Finch was busy removing his pants, while Max took a minute to ruminate on how Finch made him mess his pants. That was simultaneously devious and humiliating. He hated it, yet he somehow liked it.

His pants were removed and tossed aside with his underwear. Finch was not finished, as he fastened each ankle with a leather strap. Maxwell was too tired to even want to react physically, but he did have a little hesitation at the man continuing this stimulation.

Then he remembered his hot cock throbbing against his belly. He was still hot and loaded. He was wanting, watching Maxwell squirm under his hand until he wet himself in euphoria. He could not get hard just yet, but he was not going to stop thinking about how the man was throbbing and wanting for him.

Finch slipped in between his legs. A gentle hand took his penis and moved it up, laying it against his belly. His hands moved down and cupped his bottom, opening his cheeks. Max’s heart pounded loudly as he raised his hips, trying to meet the man halfway.

The thick throbbing dick pushed into him, stretching him. He let out a moan, realizing that he was wanting this. He had not realized how much he really wanted this. He was immediately delighted by the painful stretching.

Finch moaned as he began thrusting into him. His hands kept him comfortably angled for Finch to maximize his ability to fuck Maxwell’s ass. Max relaxed, letting Finch handle the controlling factors.

He relaxed his lower body, letting the Demoman work with everything he had going for him. Each thrust was stronger and faster than the last. He built up speed and momentum. All they could hear was their breathing and the slapping of Finch inside his ass and his balls smacking him. Max was not even surprised that he was growing hard again. As painful as going already would be, he was delighted with this.

Finch came before he did. He filled his ass, trying to make the stimulation last as long as possible. Max began to worry that the stimulation might be cut short, and it was. But as Finch pulled out, he drew near again. His breath was close to Max’s hardening penis as he inserted his fingers into his ass.

“It would have been smart to start with this,” Max said through panting breaths.

“Nah, I like the way I do things,” Finch replied simply.

Finch went on doing it his way. He slipped each finger in, until he had his whole fist engulfed in Max’s ass. At least he was not without aim, focusing more on pleasuring that spot rather than stretching him out.

Max’s eyes rolled back when he finally came. It was like a hallelujah to the heavens. The sweet release was also a painful reminder that he was not ready for it. He might as well start begging for a rest to appease Finch.

“Alright,” Finch pulled his hand out with a heavy sigh, “Break time.”


End file.
